Promises Unkept
by Rose Mello
Summary: Movie-Verse After 'The Amazing Spiderman' As Peter admits his love for Gwen, their lives take an entirely twisted turn. As they deal with love and hardship, a new enemy arises as Peter realises someone- someone dangerous- is out for his blood. Murder, kidnapping, hurt, love, friendship and tragedy is woven into the web. Can Spiderman save the day again?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! This story is dedicated to Emi Tonks Cullen and the story After Promises, because it has inspired me. This is Move-verse, after 'The Amazing Spiderman'. I never really like Spiderman, but after my brother convinced me to go watch it with him and his friend, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT! Andrew Garfield is the BEST! Anyways, tell me what you think;) took a completely opposite turn to what I was planning- but yeah. Enjoy.**

Spiderman swung through the city like a vivid red and blue shooting star. He focused on the bright city lights beneath him as he landed on a sky-scraper levelled building. Sighing, he watched pedestrians shuffling hurriedly across the streets. Cars honked and sped by as traffic lights turned from red to green. Shop owners locked up their stores for the day, leaving just as fast as everyone else. The stars above glistened brightly through the pitch-black sky and onto the busy city before. A breeze past and Peter suppressed a shiver. Smiling lightly to himself, he gently stepped off the roof of the glass office building.

People gazed in awe and astonishment as he continued practically flying over the streets, expertly catching himself before landing, never once letting the tips of his toes to graze the ground. He carefully poised himself atop another building much further from where he was before. He looked around. No one was there. It was about three in the morning now, proved by the empty streets he now gazed on to. He carefully swung to the lower part of the opposing building and lowered himself onto the dark alleyway where he left his back pack.

Pulling his mask off, he took a deep breath. He felt a dark purple bruise forming to the side of his right cheek. Groaning irritably, he cursed as he poked it to see just how bad it was. The bruise stung, badly. He ignored the mental urge to slap himself. He had been careless, once again, when stopping a mugging. Two guys overpowering a lady with a ton of shopping bags, or so he thought. He was right about the helpless citizen, but not about the two guys. He was tired from barely getting any sleep the night before, getting up early, stopping a car chase and managing to get to school late. Again. He _presumed _there were only two men, both large and burly and armed. He missed the third. And the fourth.

In the end, he knocked them unconscious, but not before getting a bullet graze on his arm- which he now noticed actually hurt- and a deep bruise on his cheek. He ended up carrying the woman's how many kilograms of groceries to her house because she was too afraid to call a taxi anymore.

He quickly discarded the memory and changed into the clothes he had worn at school- a rock band T-shirt, jeans, a light jacket and his dark converse. After fixing on his glasses, he shoved his Spiderman outfit into his bag. Normally he would just wear his clothes on top of the costume, waiting until he got home to change, but the outfit had too many rips and tears, making it uncomfortable to stay in for too long.

He blinked a few times and wondered why he even bothered with his glasses- it was practically too dark to see anything anyway. He wasn't bothered to put them back in his bag, because that required moving- something which his aching muscles weren't too fond of doing right now. He walked a few blocks, backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder and hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

When he got home, he noticed the lights were still one. It must've been past four in the morning now. _Damn_, he cursed silently. Aunt May was probably waiting for him. He felt terrible, making her worry like this. Ever since Uncle Ben's death everything had just been so hard. He mentally kicked himself. When he got to the front door, he gently unlocked it and stepped in, taking off his converse and leaving them at the door.

Aunt May was lying on the couch, fast asleep. He smiled despite himself; at least she got _some _sleep since he was sure she was exhausted. He walked to the arm chair nearby and took off a discarded quilt. Walking back his aunt, he laid it over her and fixed a cushion under her head, being careful not to wake her up.

He turned off the lights in the lounge and headed upstairs to his room, absolutely exhausted. He wanted to do nothing but sleep for the next- he checked the digital clock near his computer- three hours. School started at eight, and it was not four-thirty. He knew he couldn't dose off though.

Taking his backpack off his aching shoulder he walked over to his desk, and took his Spiderman outfit out. He cursed, noticing that there were more than a few slashes he had to fix. He knew he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight, so with that depressing thought, he picked up a needle and thread and began fixing his costume all over again.

Peter finally finished fixing his outfit when the first rays of the sun shone through his bedroom window. He sighed and looked at the clock again- seven-thirty five. He quickly shoved all his sewing equipment in the first drawer he could get his hands on, and began putting on his costume. Once he was done, he put his mask in his bag and a random blue shirt, black jeans, and the same jacket from yesterday on. Seven forty-five. He groaned. School was normally a half an hour walk from his place. He hurried to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking a good look at himself when he was done in the mirror.

He had dark circles under his eyes and he was even paler than usual. His eyes drooped and where bloodshot around the corners. His hands were trembling from exhaustion. The bruise from yesterday was darker and more evident now. He sighed, running out of the bathroom. He didn't bother wasting anytime brooding on how tired he looked. He picked up his back, put his converse on when he got to the door, and locked it behind him.

Aunt May, he noticed before he left, was still thankfully asleep. She didn't need to worry about him. He ran through traffic and jay walked practically all the way, almost getting run over a few times. He had a few more minutes before the warning bell rung, then about two more before he had to get to class.

There was no way he'd make it...

Not as Peter Parker anyway.

He quickly ravished the thought. He wasn't going to be Spiderman this morning just so he could get to school on time. He could barely stand up without wavering, let alone swing from building to building. The sun rose higher now, and winds blew by at a more extreme force, messing his hair up even more. He ran as fast as his feet would take him, side passing people and not bothering to apologise.

Finally, after straining all his muscles and running as fast as he could manage at his state, he was there. Right before the front school gates. He paused momentarily to take a few deep breaths before walking in. He checked his watch- seven-fifty nine. In a minute the bell would ring, and in less than two he'd be at class. He sighed. He's Spidey senses had also made him faster than the average human- which was something he was thankful for. Despite the fact that he matched the speed of an Olympic athlete, the strain didn't lessen.

Only then did he notice how much his arm hurt. It felt like it was slowly burning- on fire. He was just glad his bruise, though painfully clear, didn't hurt as much as the night before. Rushing through the school corridors and past other students, he finally made it to his class. The last of the student were heading in.

He was thankful he made it on time. He couldn't afford to be late again. His grades were as perfect as ever, but his continued lateness affected them. Today was one of the few days he hadn't been forced to stop a car chase or mugging or help someone else. He walked to the back and dropped his back to the corner desk at the end- ignoring the pitying stare he got from his Science teacher.

He'd been like this ever since Uncle Ben's death and this just seemed to be getting worse. He was more strained and tired and barely got a wink of sleep. He had to study and stop crime, living the cliché double life. He just didn't figure it would be this hard.

He pulled out his Science book. Thankfully, in a rush to stop an assault, he had forgotten to put it back in his locker. He was grateful now, seeing as he wouldn't have had time to get it anyway.

There was only one thing he looked forward to in the end of the day, other than the feeling of pride as he helped innocents and saved lives. She was beautiful and kind and caring. She was Gwen. After he father had made him to promise to stay away, things seemed to be getting a turn for the worse. He loved her too much to let her go, and he, frankly, was so sorry he was forced to break his promise to Captain Stacey. It had taken a few days, and measures of grief on both of them. But eventually, he told her he couldn't stay away. He told her the promises that couldn't be kept were the best kind.

He had seen her more frequently. Her internship at Oscorp was paused until the company was rebuilt. Now, after school, he dropped by through her window almost every day. They would talk about anything. They would just cherish their moments together, it was all they had. She still worried for him, and he still worried for her. When Captain Stacey had died, he felt it was his fault. Like he was to blame. She had kissed him before he could interrupt. He went to her house just to prove to himself he could. He wanted her to hate him, not love him. He loved her, and that put her in danger. But she loved him just as much, and wouldn't let him go.

He smiled at the thought and tried to pay attention to what the teacher was saying.

"Peter, could you answer the questions?" she asked him kindly. He snapped out of his daze, successfully this time, looking clueless.

"And that would be...?" he asked hopefully, rubbing the back of his neck. A few people snickered.

"How many mole of NaOH are in 50 mL of 0.1 molar concentration of NaOH? And how many molecules of NaOH are in 50mL of 0.1 molar concentration of NaOH? How would you solve that?" Basically everyone looked confused, despite the fact that they had been paying attention. Peter sighed,

"Molarity equals moles slash volume in litres. So, you need to transform that volume into- well obviously" he made a hand gesture-"litres. 50mL equals .05L, and by utilising that exact same equation, it's obvious that moles equal, Molarity Litres so Moles 'NaOH' would by equivalent to .01* .05 equals .0005 moles NaOH, or 5, 10^-4. To find the amount of molecules, we know that there are 6.02*10^23 particles in a single mole, so just by multiplying the answer to your first question by 6.02*10^23, 5*10^-4 * 6.02*10^23 that would easily equal 3.01*10^20. Then by Applying sig figs, and you get 3*10^20 molecules of NaOH, which is-" He paused for a second, "I believe, the correct answer to your question." The class was in awed silence as the genius finished his explanation. No one spoke as Peter rubbed his eyes and tried not to fall asleep. He gave his teacher a weary smile.

"I don't think I could've said that better myself" she smiled again and continued the lesson. She didn't ask him anymore questions, and for that, Peter was thankful. He waited for the page to ring, scribbling and doodling on the sides and in the margins of his book, watching the time tick by. Five more minutes, he thought.

When the bell finally rang and put him out of his misery, he immediately stood up and threw his bag onto his shoulder. Apparently it wasn't the right thing to do, because immediately, his entire arm began to burn. He felt something warm ooze down the side of his arm where the bullet grazed him the night before. Silently cursing, he moved to the front of the class and rushed out, hoping no one noticed.

He, however, wasn't so lucky. "Hey Peter!" he heard someone call him just as he got outside, students filed in from everywhere. He turned around and saw a few of Flash's friends. "Do you wanna be with us for the Science project? It's me-" the guy talking had brown hair and blue eyes, he was taller than Peter- "Case-" he pointed to girl with kind green eyes and hazel hair in a pony tail, "Sam and Flash" he finished. Sam also stood beside him, with beach blonde hair and chocolate eyes. The guy's name was Dean.

"We have a Science project?" Peter blurted. Dean tilted his head.

"Yeah- the one due next week, we're gonna be doing it at the library this Saturday." Peter didn't mean it; he groaned and leaned back, accidently putting his arm into view. Casey gasped as she saw the bruise on his cheek that had been unnoticed, and the blood trailing down his arm.

"Oh- are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. Peter noticed their worried looks and quickly hid his arm from view. The crimson liquid now trailed in small streams past his knuckles.

"Uh- yeah, fine." He stepped away from them. "I'll be in your group. See at the library on Sat!" he yelled back at he ran from their view, not waiting to hear their calls after him. After he and Flash had become friends, the people, well some of them didn't seem so bad. Their weren't mean and didn't bully people, on the contrary, Sam, Dean and Casey had stopped hanging out with Flash when he befriended his football teammates and started bullying people.

Peter shook himself of the thoughts and ran to the bathroom. He closed the door and threw his bag on the floor. Quickly peeling off his jacket, he took his shirt off, and took off enough of the suit to see his wound.

He hadn't bothered to treat it yesterday. He figured it was just a small scratch and ignored it. However, what he was looking at now was no small wound. It wasn't a flesh or superficial wound- in fact it was rather deep. He had webbed over it to stop the bleeding and ignored it after that. The bullet wound was to the side, and was a through-and-through. It bled freely down his arm. He suddenly felt very feint- like he could collapse. He didn't know if it was the exhaustion or the blood loss catching up to him, but something made him stumble and forced him to hold onto the sink with his good hand before he fell.

He took a few deep breaths and glanced at the clock on the far wall of the bathroom. In about seven minutes class was going to start. He let go of the sink and poised his hand over the wound. In a quick motion he sent webs flying and sealing the wound as tightly as he could manage. It was enough to stop the bleeding. Taking some tissue rolls, he cleaned the blood off of his arm and fixed his suit, before putting on his shirt again. After than he threw on his jacket and tried not to grimace as it brushed up against his injury.

As the second bell rang, he ran out of the bathroom and strolled toward his next class- maths.

He sighed. He had four more classes but was already almost too tired to take another step. When he arrived, most students had already taken their seats. Like science, he went to sit in the back corner of the room. He knew he would have some explaining to do- Gwen made him promise, as he remembered just now, to meet her by the bleachers. He swore then silently hoped no one heard. His teacher still had his book from last time- when he had taken Peter's book to explain an equation at the end of class, and had eventually forgotten to give it back.

His teacher Mr. Wells- speak of the devil- walked up to him, with his messy blue maths book in hand. He smiled at Peter as he placed his book on the table. Peter noticed something though. Something in Well's smile that had his Spidey senses tingled to the extreme. Peter did a double take as Mr. Well's eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary...

He saw something in those black orbs he couldn't explain- like realisation? Astonishment? He could only be perplexed as he watched his teacher's retreating back. _What on earth? _Peter adjusted his glasses. As Mr. Wells began the lesson, Peter couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously _wrong. _

The look in his eyes, his smile... it sent shivers up Spiderman's spine. Peter was tense as the lesson went on, his eyes scanning the area and looking for anything out of the ordinary. He knew he was probably just being paranoid- but his senses had never failed him. He figured they wouldn't start now.

Mr. Wells glanced at him a few more times, and walked along where his desk was, lingering for longer than usual. This was highly unusual in many ways. Peter had never had a problem with John Wells, neither had Wells with him. He glanced at him like he knew something John didn't, before walking off. Before the end of the class, Wells smiled at Peter. Then he parted his lips, and grinned. An evil grin, one that spoke out on so many levels, all yelling- _die. _

The bell rang, and almost everyone in the class began shuffling and collecting their things, before hurried through the door. Everyone except Peter- and his teacher. Peter carefully put his things in his bag, keeping eye contact with Wells. Finally, he got up and pushed his chair in.

Just before he reached the door, he heard Wells call his name,

"Peter, would you mind staying back for a moment? I've got something to discuss with you." Peter paused before slowly and carefully turning around. He forced himself to smile.

"Yes sir?" Mr. Wells turned back to his desk. He didn't say anything. Peter almost flinched from how much his Spidey senses were tingling. He looked around again. Nothing out of the ordinary. For the first time he noticed that all the blinds were drawn. Strange, he thought. The room was barely lit, even though it fairly bright before. Peter took a few more steps toward his maths teacher. "Sir? Is something wrong?"

"Yes..." Well's voice was different now. Darker, deeper... creepier. "Peter" he whispered, before laughing like a maniac. Peter gripped the strap of his bag tighter. He continued to laugh; "you've got a secret, haven't you?" he finally turned to face him.

Peter noticed Wells was pale. Really pale. His eyes were... his eyes weren't their usual blue, no they were red. Immediately the younger noticed something was wrong._ He's one of them. _He gritted his teeth and took a step back. Peter glanced back at the door- it was locked. _I didn't lock it. The blinds were open before. He's one of them. _Who 'them' was, Peter wasn't too sure, all he knew is that something was going on with Mr. Wells. Something unordinary- something evil.

Then- BAM!

It all happened so fast that Peter barely got enough time to react. Mr. Wells had moved as fast as light, and charged straight for him. Peter dodged to himself, dropping his back. Wells spun around just in time, and before Peter could even take a breath- he was up painfully against the blackboard, with Well's hand at his neck, holding him at least a foot and a half off the ground.

He struggled to get a breath.

"Peter Parker, poor Peter Parker, dead parents, dead uncle, tragic life, no one would suspect _poor Peter Parker_" Peter gasped for a breath he didn't get. He knew. Wells knew. How could Wells know? It was impossible! Black spots began to dance around his vision. He, through natural instinct, reached with both hands and tried to pry Wells fingers from his throat. Wells leaned in close, "Poor Peter Parked is _Spiderman_"

Peter had enough of this, and shot Spider Webs at Wells eyes. Wells just laughed. Peter swung and tried to kick Wells as hard as he could, but the man was like a brick wall. Wells took both Peter's wrists before lifting them over his head and crushing them together.

The Web- producers he had made were crushed, but Peter knew the still worked to some extent. He felt the bones of both his wrists crumble under the man's strength. Peter gasped. Exhaustion, pain and blood loss finally caught up to him. He forced his eyes open, before slowly closing them, as if losing consciousness due to not enough oxygen. He heard Wells laugh before loosening his hand around Peter's neck slightly.

That was all Peter needed.

With one swift movement he swung his legs again, and instead of kicking his chest, he kicked upward and towards his chin. Wells, taken by surprise, released his hold on Peter and tumbled back. Peter gasped, before Wells ran at him again. He dodged before jumping behind the large teacher's desk. He kicked it towards his Maths teacher who tripped and was forced against the wall from the force of the table which was thrown at him.

He yelled in fury, but Spiderman was quicker. He did a flip toward the area where the window was, and stood nearby.

"How do you know?" Peter asked. He had to get some answers. Wells just ran at him. Had had amazing strength, but not much intelligence. It didn't take Peter long to figure out he couldn't change directions whilst running at full speed. "How did you know, bozo?" he snarled. Not his best insult, but it did the trick. Out of anger Wells ran at him, when Peter suddenly got an idea. Instead of jumping sideways he leaped above Wells, and then with all the force he could muster in the instance when Wells stood confused, he kicked his back- forcing him out of the window.

The glass shattered all over the place, and Wells fell through the four story building. Before he met the concrete below however, Peter forced his web-slingers to work, and with even more strength, hoisted Wells and pulled him up just under the windows.

"Who the hell are you! How did you know? Who else knows!" Peter demanded, his arms shaking from exhaustion. Wells just looked up at him and... Smiled.

"No one else knows Peter Parker. But they will. They sent me to find and kill Spiderman. After I die they will eventually figure it out. They will kill you, Spiderman." Before Peter could do so much as blink, Wells pulls so hard on the webs holding him above ground that they snapped. And in one quick movement John Wells was dead.

Peter stumbled back into the room, look bewildered and stunned. His math teacher knew who he was. People were after him. His maths teacher had tried to kill him. He threw his maths teacher out of a four story building. _Oh god. What the hell just happened? _Peter stumbled back further. His hand brushed against his neck and he winced, feeling the fresh bruises. He pulled his collar up and zipped his jacket. Picking up his bag he rushed to the door, his hand shaking. He unlocked it and stepped onto the empty corridor. He was more than thankful the school committee had agreed on removing cameras in the Maths and Extra-Curricular building. He lifted one of his wrists shakily. The watch on it was cracked and broken but still read the time where it was last frozen. It had been at least ten minutes since third period started.

Peter didn't care though. His left wrist hurt so much it felt like someone split it open and shoved a hot poker burner against the skin, muscle, and bone. His right wrist was better and only ached painfully. Peter bit his lip. He had just killed his teacher. He wasn't going to go to class. Not with a neck so badly bruised he could barely breathe, a bullet wound that was sure to be bleeding again, a dark bruise on his face, a wrist that was broken and a wrist that was strained and probably fractured.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it was so hard he almost collapsed. He ran across the white corridor and reached the stairs, jogging down them as fast as he could. He left the school through the back gate and ran into no one. When he turned to see where his Math teacher had died, he found him. Surrounded by policemen and a few students. No doubt they were going to call an evacuation. He didn't want to watch this; he ran across the side road of the school and kept his head down.

He couldn't go home, not when Aunt May was there. He couldn't go back to school, everyone was probably already out and leaving, going back there would just seem suspicious. Knowing the police, they would send everyone home first- not bothering to check who was there or not. He was in so much deep thought-

"_No one else knows Peter Parker. But they will. They sent me to find and kill Spiderman. After I die they will eventually figure it out. They will kill you, Spiderman." _

He didn't notice the approaching figure until he ran into her-

"Gwen?"

**What'd think? It took an ENTIRLY different turn to the short cheesy oneshot I was planning. Read and Review, tell me what you think! Creative criticism is welcome! What's gonna happen next? Don't know? Neither do I;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**OH wow. First chapter and I got 15 Faves and 22 Alerts, thank you so much! Enjoy, Chapter two of Promises Unkept. Sorry if it's a little slow -.- Read and Review- take two seconds please. Your reviews make me write faster!**

When Gwen first saw him, she thought she was dreaming. Scratch that, this was no dream- just a nightmare. He hadn't shown up at the bleachers earlier, so for that she was a little disappointed, since she really wanted to spend more time with him. She figured he had a good reason though. After the bell rang, she had a free period and decided to go shopping with her friend Mikeala, whose mother owned a clothing store downtown. On the way, they visited the shop and helped Mikeala's mother with some chores, mopping, swiping, dusting, fixing. Inevitably, this sidetrack caused Gwen to be late for her fourth class, which she had noted started about twenty minutes ago. Mikeala dropped her off near the gates before she was forced to leave as she got a call from the local hospital- there had been an accident, and her mother, whom they had seen less than half an hour ago, was involved.

Gwen offered to go with her, but her friend told her she had a class to get to and that she would be fine, leaving Gwen worried for her friend about a twenty-five minute walk from school. Gwen did a double take as she bumped into Peter. Her eyes became wide and her jaw dropped open.

"Gwen" Peter spoke, tiredly, as if he hadn't slept in days. She took sight of the deep bruises beneath his eyes and noted he probably hadn't. She didn't try to hide her shock as he stumble and almost fell- before she caught him. He hissed in pain as she held onto his shoulder to keep him upright.

"Peter what happened? Are you okay? Peter!" She yelled feverishly. Oh god, she noticed the dark bruise on his cheek. Her deep blue orbs trailed down as she caught sight of more dark, purple bruises hiding under his collar, in the shapes of hands.

He coughed as she steadied him, taking on most of his weight. His breath was raspy and he just looked perplexed, and guilty. Yes, there was a deep, unnerving look of guilt in his once innocent chocolate orbs. She recognised that look of self-loathing, that look she wished she never had to see on his handsome features ever again. It was the one he got when he blamed himself for someone's death. The look that had clouded his eyes when they spoke of her father, the look which now overrode his tired eyes.

"Gwen... I killed him... I killed Mr. Wells." He spoke softly, in a voice that was so haunted and exhausted. The first emotion that took over Gwen was fear. Fear of what happened to her boyfriend whom she loved so much. Fear for the danger he was in. Fear for the guilt that laced itself within his very core.

Mr. Wells, she thought. Was he... one of them? One of those villains who wanted Spiderman dead so much they cornered the teenager and vowed for his crimson blood to satisfy their lust? Gwen shivered before pulling looking back at Peter.

He didn't meet her eyes. He was looking at the concrete path with something mixed in with the guilt and self-hate. He thought she would despise him.

"Oh god Peter, what happened?" she eyed his wounds, then with a sharp gasp noticed scarlet blood trickled down his knuckles. She didn't wait for an answer, "Can you walk?" She asked softly. She felt him nod against her cheek as he slumped forward. "My house is just a block away Peter, okay?" She tried smiling at him, to hide her fear.

He didn't say anything at first. After the first few steps he stumbled, but she kept him steady. She wanted to know so bad what the hell happened to him, why his maths teacher was dead, and why he was convinced he killed him. She wanted to know why he was bleeding, bruised and battered. Why the love of her life looked like he could collapse at any given moment.

But she didn't. They were almost their now, just a few metres from her door. She didn't question him, because she had to help him, heal him. She wanted to call an ambulance so bad, because they could treat him expertly, better than she ever could, but didn't. Because knowing Peter he had his Spiderman suit underneath his clothes.

"Hey, just hang on there, Pete. We're almost there." She helped him up the stairs and forced herself to choke back a sob when she saw the odd colouring and positioning of his wrists and fingers. The blood that ran down his left arm now flowed past his knuckles in rivers and dripped onto her porch. Without letting go of him she dug into her pocket for her keys with her free hand. Eventually she managed to fish them out and unlocked the door.

She knew that if he wasn't about to collapse, he would have protested against letting her treat him in her own home. It had happened before, plenty of times. Her room was upstairs, which was far too far for him to walk. So she helped him through the main corridor as she limped, and led him to the large spare bedroom beside the dining hall.

He laid down on the bed, and as she got a better look at him, she wondered how he made it so far from school. She knelt beside him as he took deep breaths, too deep. As if he couldn't get any oxygen through his windpipe.

She removed his glasses, which had miraculously, not been too damaged. She carefully placed them on the set of drawers near beside the bed, before turning toward her patient.

"Gwen..." he murmured, his eyes only partially closed, "I'm sorry..." he trailed off. She managed a small smile,

"Shh, you can apologise later, okay?" Because he would explain to her why he looked half dead and claimed he had killed someone later. That didn't matter now, all that mattered was him. She saw him smile lightly and meet her eyes.

"Thank you" she paused, before realised she had to help him. Her father, being a police officer, had taken medical examinations on first aid procedures and such, and so taught her some of it. She slowly forced herself to focus, and reached for the zipper of his jacket. Calmly, well as calmly as she could, she unzipped it. Once it was opened, she realised she had to actually get him out of it.

"I'll get up." She heard him say. She looked up startled. He smiled cheekily at her. Sitting up, with effort, he groaned in pain when he grazed his wrist against the bed. He looked at her with a light red crimson blush forming on his cheeks. "I er..." he lifted up his broken and fractured wrists, "can't really..." he bit his lip in a manner that Gwen thought was all too cute, then she realised what he was asking her.

She blushed too. Kneeling forward even further, she gently peeled the jacket off his shoulders. When she came up to his wrists though, she hastily apologised and took it off quickly. She saw him grit his teeth in pain as his broken bones were disturbed even further. He was now in his long sleeve shirt.

He looked at her for a moment before lifting his arms up slightly. She helped him out of it, pulling past his head. He breathed deeply as she looked at him with concern, discarding his shirt on the floor along with his jacket.

He now wore his Spiderman uniform and jeans. The suit was going to be a problem. He just sighed before grinning cheekily at her.

"I guess I figured if you'd ever be undressing me it wouldn't have been under these circumstances." He said with a playful smirk, but she still saw that he was in pain. Gwen grinned, despite herself. She stood up, and then sat on the bed beside him. She inched closer to him, so that she was sure her breath was on his lips,

"Maybe later." She saw him blush slightly and stifled her giggles. She pushes a stray streak of silver-blonde hair from her face and behind her ear. She took a deep breath, before placing both her hands at the hems of his spandex shirt, the top part of the suit. "I'm going to take this off okay? And it's gonna hurt..." her eyes trailed to his wrist. There was no way she could treat him with the top part of the suit on, but she knew it would hurt his wrists.

He nodded. "'Kay..." he mumbled, leaning back slightly with a soft sigh.

Gwen began slowly peeling the spandex and took another deep breath when her boyfriend winced. Slowly, slowly, she thought to herself as she calmly- well as calmly as she could- lifting the red and blue skin-tight fabric from his skin. Her eyes widened as with each inch she removed she saw a new different scar, marring his toned chest.

He lifted his hands further, and she was almost done. The material was just at the top of his chest when she felt him flinch as it was removed from his wrists.

"Almost done..." she whispered to him. The spandex kept brushing tightly against his broken wrist, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. She almost sighed in relief when the tight fabric was off and discarded on the floor. Almost.

That was when she noticed the fresh angry greyish-purple bruises in hand prints at his neck. God, they were so clear. She couldn't help it, she stared. Peter turned to face her, the purple remnant of the mugging last night ever so clear on the side of his face. He smiled at her cheekily, she shook her head.

That was when she remembered the blood running down his arm just before. She shifted feverishly to make sure it wasn't as bad as she first thought it was. No, it was worst. Much worse. He took a sharp intake of breath when she carefully brushed her finger over the webbing that was dissolving.

"Peter..." she bit her lip as their eyes met, an apology written all over his. She examined it further. "I have to stitch this." She mumbled, mostly to herself but she was sure he heard it. He did, apparently, because he nodded. She stood up abruptly, "I'm going to get the first aid kit." She said, before leaving through the door.

Once she was in the corridor and out of Peter's sight, she leaned against the wall and slumped forward. Oh god, she thought... damn it, she silently cursed and got up from her previous position, Peter was hurt, and she was here wasting time. She quickly walked, practically jogged, through the corridor and to the bathroom.

She hurriedly walked on the cold white tiles before realising she hadn't even taken her shoes of yet. She discarded the thought, and headed towards the cabin above the sink. Pulling it open, she took the first aid kit to the side, a small bottle of painkillers, and an extra roll of bandages. Collecting everything in her arms, she rushed to the kitchen, where she collected a bag of frozen peas, and one of frozen corn. From there, she walked back to the room, expertly balancing everything.

She nudged the door open with her foot and found Peter in the position she had left him in. He looked up at her with a small twinkle in his exhausted state. She placed the frozen peas on his right wrist so the swelling would decrease.

Then, she placed everything on the side table beside the bed, and then sat on the bed, facing his side. He didn't have to turn, because his bullet wound was facing her already. The shifted slightly and pulled the first aid kit, before taking out some alcohol healing wipes. Carefully, she peeled of what little remained of the webs.

Peter winced before giving her one his calm smiles. She didn't smiled back, just licked her lips and concentrated at the task at hand. She heard her father tell her that before stitching a wound you always had to clean in, so it wouldn't become septic. She began cleaning the streams of blood from his arm with as little pressure as she could manage. The good thing was that the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

As she cleaned the outer and inner edges of the wound on both sides of his arm, she couldn't help but almost wince as he flinched. She knew he'd rather be screaming in pain as the alcohol touched his wound, but resulted to grinding his teeth together and clenching his fingers on the quilt of the spare bed.

Once the wound was clean, she examined it further to make sure there was no excess blood or dirt or anything. Taking a deep breath, she placed the dirty wipes on the same side-table as before and pulled a needle and thread from the kit. She told him it would hurt, and he only merrily nodded, taking breaths as deep as he could through his bruised neck. When she finally inserted the needle into his flesh, he hissed in pain, but told her not to stop, that he was okay. She looked at him in concern before continuing.

About a quarter way through the stitching, he spoke. "Thank you, Gwen." He spoke so softly she almost missed it. She carefully inserted the needle again.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked him in a confused manner. He gritted his teeth when the sharp prick of the needle piercing the flesh of his arm came again and again. She kept up a slow but steady face, silently thanking her father so much for teaching her to stitch wounds and the basics of first aid.

Peter just gave her a 'you-know-why look'. "You don't... deserve this. You shouldn't have to do this for me..." He trailed of and Gwen almost rolled her eyes. She carefully took out the needle then put it back in, only further.

"Peter," she chuckled softly, startling him. "Peter, I _love _you. You have nothing to be sorry for" she said, smiling as she paused for a moment and gazed up at him. He looked at her with a look of love and warmth so intense it made her heart flutter. She returned it.

They didn't speak at she finished the last few stitches. She took a new alcohol wipe and carefully went over the slightly irritated skin. She was thankful the stitches looked right, and not slanted or too deep.

"There." She put the needle and thread away, before looking back at him. "That's done... how's your wrist?" she asked him.

"My right wrist just stings a bit, so it should be fine..." he replied as he nudged the frozen peas away and took a better look at it. It was slightly red around the edges, but thankfully didn't seem broken or fractured. "My other wrist though..." He laughed a deep, humourless hollow laugh, before pulling up his left hand.

His left wrist was purple and red, and had an odd angle to it. It was obviously broken. "I'll put a cast around it. With your Spiderman powers it should take about a week or so to heal..." she mumbled, mainly to herself.

She took the large first aid kit and pulled out some white powdery sheets from it. She inhaled and exhaled sharply. She'd never made a cast before. What if she done it wrong and his wrist didn't heal properly? What if he couldn't move it right afterwards? What if- what if...

She snapped out her thoughts when she heard him chuckle. "You'll do fine." He smiled at her, a smiled that wiped away all her worries and fears. She nodded back confidently, before taking a gentle grip of his forearm.

"How do you do that?" she muttered, asking him softly. He raised an eye brow as she began to peel of the thin layer of almost invisible protector paper, before lifting his forearm.

"Do what?" he said cheekily. A light smirk played on his soft lips as she lowered the back of his wrist onto the cast paper. He watched her gingerly.

"You know..." she began to wrap the cast around his wrist was tentatively and delicately as she could. "That thing where you know what I'm thinking..." she wrapped the paper all the way around before tightening it carefully. "Then you say something and smile and just... make it all better" she lifted her head with a soft smile.

She saw his right hand move, before he grazed her chin with her soft touch. Her eyes widened slightly, before his thumb brushed against her smooth cheek and pulled her close. Her eyes fluttered close as she moved lightly into his touch. Everything forgotten, both of them, leaning forehead to forehead, their lips only centimetres apart...

"Because I love you" he said, before drawing her in. Her lips met his in a calm, gentle, passionate kiss. Her lips were soft against his, his loving and gentle against hers. When they broke apart, they shared a look, a moment that neither of them wanted to leave. Gwen's lips broke into a small smile.

"I love you too, but..." she whispered huskily as she leaned into his ear, "I need to treat your other wrist." And with that, the leaned back and he smirked. She pulled the hand that was just at her cheek, and looked at it. "Doesn't look too bad, but I still need to bandage it."

"Right" he said, moving closer so that she could examine it better. "It should be healed in a day or so..."

Gwen pulled out some bandages, from behind the left over unused cast paper in the first aid case. She didn't have to cut it, because as she began bandaging his hand, looping the fabric over and around his thumb to stabilise it, she realised there was just the perfect amount.

She taped it in place with some medical tape then retreated with a sigh. She looked at him again, and then remembered the bruises on his neck. Peter leaned it, realising what she wanted to do. She scanned the wound. It was just as bad as it had been before, but it was only slightly faded and Peter's breathing was more calm, and even. More controlled. She took one of the fresh vegetable packs and held it to the worst part of the injury, on the right side of his neck. He winced at the contact but did nothing more than that. He just watched her.

"What happened?" she finally asked lightly. She didn't want to. Gwen wanted him to rest, but the look in his eyes told her he still had something on his chest. He blamed himself for whatever happened. She couldn't have that. Once she had the full story, she would make sure he knew he wasn't to blame for any of it. "Peter... what happened?"

He bit his lip. "I... it was in maths... and... he called me, after class. He seemed, you know, weird. Just- off. My senses were telling me something was wrong- but I just couldn't see it..." his voice broke slightly and he bowed his head. Gwen held the frozen food to his neck and inched closer in comfort. "He told me no one suspected me, he told me he knew. His eyes were- red. And he went really pale. He had super strength..." he looked at her with a certain uncertainty in his wonderful, chocolate orbs.

"I just... I don't know how. We... we fought. I kicked him through the window, but I held him up with me web- just so he would tell me what he meant. How he knew... but" he licked his dry lips and his handsome features slumped. "He just said they didn't know. But they will, soon. He said that they were after Spiderman. Then he broke the webbing." He stopped talking and looked at her.

"Oh Peter..." she saw the haunted look in his eyes. Only weeks ago he saved the entirety of New York and was labelled a hero. Now he was being hunted down by madmen with superpowers. "It isn't your fault."

He just nodded, not really believing her words.

"But Mr. Wells... You've had him for _years_. He's always liked you. I just don't understand. You've never said anything about your spider senses going off when he was nearby before... why would he just...? And _how_? How could he have possibly _known_?" She shook her head, perplexed.

"I don't know. I'm sure he's never had those powers before. He's never acted strange or... I don't understand. I'm sure he only found out recently, because he's never acted like this before. Someone hired him, but why? He said they didn't know I was Spiderman, there could've been so many others." He didn't say anything else, he just looked at her. She shook her head; she was just as confused as he was.

"All we know is that someone is after you. An organisation, sense he used the term 'they'. They hired him, without knowing he was Spiderman's maths teacher. But he knew you were Spiderman, but didn't tell them, _why _he didn't tell them, I don't know..." she said, meeting his eyes again.

"Maybe because if he told them, someone else would have a chance. They chased Spiderman, but imagine _knowing _who Spiderman _was. _There'd be no need to lure me out or anything. It'll make it a surprise. If he told them then they'd, meaning the others- because I'm sure he said they were hunting me- might've attacked, and gotten to me first, before him." He finished, sighed deeply. He shifted slightly, about to speak- but Gwen interrupted him.

"We'll figure this out later, alright? You need to rest" she told him, moving away from the bed, and standing up with both hands on her hips. Peter sighed and looked outside. The sun was beginning to set.

"I should get going- Aunt May will be getting worried..." But Gwen beat him to it. As he tried to stand, she gently pushed him back on the bed so that he was lying down, his eyebrows raised at her.

"You haven't slept, in what, three days?" She didn't wait for him to protest because she knew it was true. "I'm calling Aunt May and telling her you're staying the night. Today's Friday, so there's no school tomorrow, you don't have to worry about anything." She finished with a cheeky smile and bent down to peck his cheek.

"I... Thank you." He looked at her with a kind expression. She collected the first aid things but left the bottle with the painkillers, "I'll be back in a sec'"

Gwen hurried across the house and put everything back where it was supposed to be. It was, surprisingly, already evening. Once she put everything back, she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water to go with the painkillers. When she made it back to the spare bedroom, she found Peter gazing up at the ceiling looking very tired and worn out indeed. Opening the bottle of pills, she took out two and handed it to him with the water.

Peter sat up and drank the painkillers, sighing in relief as they begun to ebb away the pain.

"Go to sleep." Gwen whispered to him. He really looked like he was going to protest, but was so tired he was asleep even before he hit the pillow.

It was rather hot inside, so Gwen didn't worry too much about the fact that he slept on the sheets rather than in them. She looked at him, when she noticed he was still wearing his signature black converse.

She sighed and moved to the bottom of the bed. Those shoes couldn't be comfortable to sleep in. Slowly, she let her hands trail over to them and began to untie them. It didn't take long before both shoes were off and discarded somewhere else on the floor.

That was when she _really _looked at him. She sat on a chair and moved it near the bed and away from the desk. She paid close attention to his toned chest; it was more scarred then she first assumed. There were old yellow-ish green bruises, whilst some where a red, grey-ish purple tone- the fresher ones. There were slashes crisscrossing basically every part of his torso. Horizontal ones, vertical ones, ones so deep it was hard to believe he'd survived all that. She traced a particular one on his side, it was long, and ran from his waistline to just under his arm. Some were even stitched, knowing Peter, he'd stitched them himself. There were knife wounds and bullet wounds, not just the one she had just treated on his upper arm. The discolorations on his neck were both fading and darkening, into different vivid angry shades.

"Oh Peter..." Gwen whispered, as for the first time that day, allowed a single crystal tear to break through her long lashes and cascade down her pale cheek.

**SOMEWHERE ELSE, SAME TIME**

"Sir, John Wells died this afternoon" the man clad in a formal black suit said as he stood before his master. He stood in a stiff stance, his voice without a single hint of emotion. The man behind the desk in the fancy well-furnished office turned to look at him, with an indescribable glint in his eye.

The man had short jet black hair and a distinguishable hideous scar running down his eye. He trailed it with a single calloused finger as his lips turned in an evil smirk. His eyes lit up and he let out a loud bark of laughter.

"He was found on the concrete grounds of a school. He is believed to have fallen or pushed from a four-story window. The classroom from which he fell from was dishevelled, as if a fight had just taken place." The other lesser man continued, searching his superior's eyes for a hint of _anything_.

"So he's found him." he let out another animalistic bark of laughter. "He knew who Spiderman was, didn't he, Simon?" he didn't wait for an answer, "And then what? I'll bet he confronted him. I'll bet Spiderman was in that class." He turned again to the other younger man.

"Sir, there is no way _Spiderman _is a _teenage high school _student." Simon said, disbelief etched onto his features. "You sent him to capture and kill Spiderman, but perhaps because he was getting close to his true identity that someone forced the information out of him then killed him" he finished, believing his words far more than the other's.

"Perhaps..." the superior said, though did not look convinced. "That is more likely, or it may have been a fellow teacher whom designated the meeting." He replied, no longer smirking. "Nevertheless, I want a name of every single student in that class, Simon."

"Yes sir. Anything else sir?" Simon asked, ready to leave.

"Oh yes. Prepare our experiment. When there is chaos, Spiderman is there to save the day, Simon. Let us make chaos."

**Sorry if it's a bit confusing! R & R for a COOKIE! A COOKIE! Seriously, reviews encourage me to write more and make me smile! Thanks to all those who have reviewed chapter one, I LOVE YOU.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! WOW so many reviews! I love you guys so much Thank you! This chapter is a bit slow, because the next chapter will be ACTION-PACKED! WOOO! Lol. Okay. Enough of me, enjoy **

Peter woke to the light of sun's rays shining through the plastic blinds at the other side of the room. He took a deep breath and found it much easier to breathe than the previous day- speaking of which... He turned his head slightly on the comfortable pillow to remind himself he was at Gwen's house and that this wasn't all a dream. He winced lightly as he moved his stiff neck, but stopped movement all together when he saw what was beside him.

Or rather _who_.

Gwen was sitting- slumped- on a wooden chair he'd seen behind the desk in corner of the room before. She was leaning forward with her hands folded on the bed and her head buried in them. Peter smiled to himself as he heard her breathe in and out lightly.

He felt much better than yesterday- more refreshed. He didn't feel any pain in his arm where the bullet wound was, so he turned to see what had happened to it. The stitches Gwen had put together were neat and small and didn't cause any skin irritation. It was just like some old scar now.

That was when he realised he was shirtless.

He almost chuckled, but stopped himself when he remembered Gwen was sleeping. The bruises all along his torso and neck seemed to have calmed down and didn't bother him too much. His broken wrist- he noted- was in the make-shift cast Gwen fixed him yesterday, healing comfortably. His other bandaged wrist only throbbed lightly, but the pain and swelling, he was sure, had decreased greatly. He sighed gently and moved his hand over to Gwen. Before he knew what he was doing he had one of her soft, smooth golden streaks of hair between his fingers. He smiled- her hair smelled like delicious freshly picked strawberries.

Then he remembered something. What happened yesterday, why he was at Gwen's house to begin with. He faintly remembered walking from school after his fight with Wells... he winced and momentarily paused playing with his girlfriend's hair as he remembered Wells keeping him behind in class, telling him he knew his identity and that the 'others' would soon figure it out. He remembered Mr. Well's body falling four stories and looking away before it reached the ground and became a bloody mangled heap. He took a deep breath to calm himself at the memory, then...

He remembered he was forgetting something.

Finally deciding to ignore the nagging feeling in his gut that he was seriously forgetting something, he continued to play with Gwen's soft hair, remembering the passionate love-filled kiss they shared yesterday. He remembered the taste of strawberries and vanilla on her lips and her smooth comforting touch.

He smiled inwardly when he heard her yawn loudly. She lifted her head up and stretched her arms, apparently forgetting Peter was there. He let go of the strand of hair he was playing with, smirked, and waited for her to notice him. She finally opened her eyes, did a double take, and then grinned widely despite everything that happened the day before.

She leaned in and met his eyes, then pecked him on the cheek- before blushing furiously once she realised he was shirtless.

"Morning sunshine." He said, laughing half-heartedly when he noticed the crimson colour of her cheeks. Despite his words he felt his face heating up slightly.

"How do you feel?" she asked, concern tightly laced within each and every single word. She scanned his chest to see how everything was healing- and Peter realised he would've made a joke but it just didn't seem like the right time. When her eyes snapped back up she raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer.

"Fine. Great, actually. Much better than yesterday." He offered her a small cute smile that she couldn't resist. She smiled back before standing up. She stretched again and yawned once more, flexing her barely stiff neck. "Going somewhere?"

"I'm gonna make breakfast. Be ready in fifteen. Your clothes are in the closet-" she blushed a little more; Peter thought it was really cute. "I mean your er jacket and shirt and the top of your Spiderman outfit..." she smiled before rubbing the back of her neck. She motioned toward a wardrobe near the back of the room then with a slight nod, she rushed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Peter sat up, loving how cute Gwen was when she was flustered. The scarlet blush of her cheeks, the dorky adorable smile she offered, the light twinkle of her eyes. He sat with a sigh, thinking of how wonderful she was. Of how she could take away all his worries by barely trying. Slowly, he got himself up and got to his feet. He wasn't wearing any shoes, he realised. Again he grinned inwardly at Gwen's thoughtfulness. He walked over to the closet made of dark wooden mahogany and lightly curled his fingers around the rusted golden knob. He relished the cold feel of the metal for a moment before he turned it and pull the door open.

Inside were a set of shelves, and an old dusty mirror attached to the door he just opened. His shirt, jacket, and the missing part of his Spiderman suit were folded neatly in one of the middle shelves, on top of one another. Gingerly, he took his clothes out, the suit first. Quickly pulling it on, he made sure not to use his left wrist too much, and remembered to check for any tears. Glancing at it in the mirror he noticed there weren't any, thankfully. He'd only fixed it a few nights ago. The red and blue material was as smooth as ever under his touch as he fixed it on properly. Next, he wore his long sleeved rock-band shirt, and pulled up the collar so that it covered the bruises on his next. Finally, he put each arm through the sleeves of the jacket and again pulled the collar up- just in case. He looked at his reflection- despite the new injuries, he looked much better than before.

The circles under his eyes weren't as dark, though they were still obvious. The bruise on his cheek was more faded and was no longer a dark purple colour. Rather it was something more greyish, and he was grateful for the fact it was much lighter.

He saw his backpack at the bottom of the wardrobe and grabbed it quickly. He found his glasses on the side drawer beside his bed, along with a fresh glass of water. Quickly putting them on, he gulped down the water- only now realising how thirsty he had been. He eventually spotted his shoes at the foot of the bed then put them on, before taking the empty glass of water and going to the kitchen.

As he stepped into the corridor, he smelt the most amazing smell. It was a sort of sweet, succulent delicious smell that just made him _really _hungry. It was then he realised he hadn't eaten in about three days.

As he got closer to the kitchen, the amazing smell became almost intoxicating. When he stepped onto the sparkly white tiles where the scent was coming from, he spotted Gwen at the stove, making what looked like pancakes. Carefully and without making a single sound, he placed the glass on a nearby counter, his bag by a chair, and tiptoed to her. Before thinking about it, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his head on her shoulder.

She gave a startled yelp before laughing. "I will catch you one day." She whispered to him as she turned off the heat and leaned back against him, folding her arms over his own, being careful not to add pressure to his broken wrist. She tilted her head and looked at him. He gave her his best puppy dog look through his glasses. She groaned playfully. "I can't resist that look."

He leaned in and captured her soft lips in a soft, small kiss before breaking apart. "I love you..." he whispered to her, before leaving the embrace and taking two pristine white plates from a rack nearby and handing them to her. She gave him a look before using a spatula to put even stacks of golden pancakes on either plate.

"Set the table, I'll just get these ready" She nudged him and gave him a smile. He nodded before leaving to fix the table. Using his right hand, he fixed the table-cloth, added more water to the lilies in the middle, and poured two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. When Gwen was finished, she carried both plates fixed with golden syrup, blueberries _in _the pancakes and on top. Peter could swear he'd never seen pancakes so delicious.

He pulled out her chair for her, and she thanked him. After he took his seat, they dug into the irresistibly tasty food. Peter sighed in content, very thankful he was right handed, but still being careful when he moved his wrist about.

"I feel like a just stepped out of paradise and burrowed heaven's pancakes" he said to her, biting into a large fresh juicy blueberry.

Gwen laughed lightly, "You should see the ones my grandmother makes." She said, watching as he devoured another tasty pancake. The sun began to rise higher as they talked and joked and laughed, not at all mentioning the events of yesterday. Just being themselves.

This was their time. Time for them to share priceless moments and remember them as content memories. Time for them to feel so light and glad and just so _happy _in each other's presence. Neither mentioned worry nor concern, neither mentioned deranged maths teachers or insane organisations. Rather, they chatted about vacations and holidays, and how Gwen's mother and brothers were visiting her aunt Beryl out of town.

"They should be back in a couple of days" she stated as she pushed her empty plate away, sipping some of her orange juice. "Oh, by the way, have you started on the Science assessment?"

Peter suddenly had a horrified look on his face. His eyes widened considerably as he pushed his orange juice away, "You mean the project?" he said breathlessly, before Gwen could even answer he spoke again, "I was supposed to meet Flash's friends to work on the project!" he glanced quickly at the clock, it was just past one. He sighed in resignation.

"Oh-" Gwen started, but never got the chance to finish as her boyfriend spoke again.

"Be in our group..." he didn't look alarmed anymore. He just as another cheesy smirk on his face. Gwen marvelled at how quickly he could change demeanours before smiling in reply to him.

"Exactly what I was thinking"

After than particular conversation, and Peter realising he remembered what he had forgotten, they had washed the dishes and prepared Gwen's science things and took his bag. They figured since Dean, Sam, Casey and Flash had forgotten- or maybe just didn't have a chance since he was in such a 'rush'- to tell Peter the time, that they wouldn't mind too much. The only reason Gwen wasn't in Peter's group to begin with was because she had to take a few classes of for some extra-curricular activities and had managed to miss that particular lesson.

Once they left Gwen's house, they began walking not to the library, but to Peter's place. He needed to check on Aunt May and also get his books and such to prepare for the project.

When they were just about a block or so from the house, after talking about a collection of random things, Peter had become distinctively quiet and in seemingly deep thought. Gwen tilted her head and gave him a look of concern before asking,

"You okay?" He didn't say anything for a while, until he lifted his head and Gwen saw _that _look. The look he had gotten when he bumped into her all bleeding and bruised the previous day. That guilt-ridden look that clouded his eyes when he blamed himself for something that she knew was in no way his own personal fault. "Peter, she's fine." She said before he had a chance to even protest.

"I know- it's just..." he trailed off and bit his lip in an ashamed and frustrated manner. "She shouldn't have to deal with this. She barely gets any sleep since she's worrying all the time. I just, I don't..." he stopped talking, not knowing what else to say. Gwen sighed and held his hand, squeezing it in a sign of silent support. She knew exactly how he felt, and she didn't plan on letting him feel like that anymore.

"She loves you, Peter. She loves you and she cares about you. Even if you don't stay up saving the city every night and rescuing helpless civilians and doing damn good in this world, she would _still _worry. You can't stop that from happening. The best you can do is come back home every night, Peter, that's the best you can do." She gazed into his deep orbs, her words feinting into the background as they held each other's hands in a motion of love and care and support. Gwen meant every word of what she said, hoping that they hit home. She knew Aunt May cared for Peter just as much as she did. It was true that all he could do sometimes is be safe. Safe and sound.

Peter held her hand tighter and smiled at her. "What would I do without you?" He whispered as quietly as the breeze that past.

"You don't have to do _anything_. I'm always here for you Peter, just like you're always here for me." She remembered how he comforted her when she sobbed into his shoulder after her father's death. How he came in her room through her window in the middle of the night because she texted him and told him she needed him. How he stayed up with her, talking, just talking, taking her mind of things and supporting her. How he held her as they swung through the New York night sky to find somewhere peaceful and quiet.

He looked at her again and gave her a true, genuine smile, one she hadn't seen in so long. Too long. God, he was gorgeous when he smiled, she thought silently to herself. They continued walking until they got to the front of Peter's house. They noiselessly walked up to the porch and without another word, Peter dug his house keys from his pocket before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

"Aunt May?" Peter called as they stepped in. No one answered, he bit his lip slightly. "Aunt May?" He called even louder, his voice slightly laced with worry as they walked past the kitchen and the living room. They kept walking when Peter called for his aunt, who again, didn't answer. He hurried through the house, hand still tightly grasped by Gwen. When they got to the outside of Aunt May's bedroom, Peter carefully pushed the door open, grateful when it didn't creak.

Much to Peter's thankfulness, Aunt May lay beneath the blankets sleeping soundly. He let out a sigh of relief before closing the door to her bedroom again and walking out of the hallway.

"I'll just leave a note and get my stuff." He told her as they moved up the smooth steps. Walking into his room, Peter quickly collected his extension Science branched textbook and his pencil case, expertly balancing them with his right hand. He placed them on the table and pulled out a spare sticky note and scribbled a few things on it, then collected his things and jogged back downstairs, posting it on the fridge.

Less than five minutes later, they were on their way to the library downtown. Peter sighed in irritation as he felt a familiar buzz at the back of his neck. He reached around and rubbed the spider bite there only lightly.

"What's wrong?" Gwen asked him. She saw his eyes cloud over with strange essence of puzzlement.

"I don't know... it's probably nothing, but I've just got this feeling something bad is gonna happen..."

**Downtown New York, Same time**

"Is stage one ready?" The man in the deep rust coloured suit asked Simon who stood behind him. The man had his hands folded carefully and neatly behind his office and was standing solitarily, gazing outside onto the city below through the glass wall of his office.

"Yes sir, stage one is ready to commence." Simon replied, licking his lips. "When do you wish for us to begin?" He asked.

"Not yet. No, we commence we the city is busiest. Just a little bit longer. Stage two is complete and ready to begin immediately after stage one, correct?" The superior asked, finally his gaze trailed from the beautiful view and to Simon's stoic figure.

"Yes, of course sir. Stage two is prepared. He is completely formed and ready for his role." Simon affirmed. The older man turned back away from him and inwardly smiled.

"Perfect." He whispered. "And the hunt begins, Spider-Man."

**With Peter and Gwen at the Library**

When Peter and Gwen finally arrived at the library, they found that the place was almost full with people reading silently in between bookshelves, others on computers and laptops, some searching aimlessly for books they will probably never find, and so on. Both Gwen and Peter were however thankful, because it didn't take them long to find the rest of their group. They were in one of the corners, trying their best to concentrate and figure something out, but by the loud frustrated arguments they heard from all the way across the study area, it seemed like they couldn't come up with anything.

The four of them sat around a simple grey circular six seater table. Casey had her hair in two long pigtails and sat next to Flash, who sat next to Dean, who sat next to Sam. Everyone else was pretty much the same at Peter remembered them from the last time he saw them, other than what they wore. As they reached the others, Dean lifted his head and waved at them. It was then he noticed the cast and bandages around Peter's wrist.

"Hey, man what happened to your wrist?" It seemed that Sam noticed too, because he asked with slightly concerned eyes. Peter looked slightly startled by waved him off.

"It's nothing, just fell down the stairs." He excused himself and Gwen found herself nodded reproachfully. She noticed Casey eyeing her then staring at Peter's bandaged hands with a look of... distaste? Gwen shook herself mentally, she was probably imagining it.

"Sorry we're late guys; I hope you don't mind Gwen joining..." Peter smiled, putting his books on the large table, and his bag beside him. Gwen did the same and took her seat next to them as he pulled it out for her in a gentlemanly manner.

"Oh hey Gwen, sure it's not a problem." They all greeted each other like they were old friends, which Peter and Gwen both found a little ironic, but dismissed it nonetheless. They just smiled as they skipped to the right pages of their books.

"Did you guys hear about Mr. Wells?" Dean asked Gwen and Peter with a look of confusion tightly knit in his orbs. Peter and Gwen had been expecting this to be brought up, and shared a knowing- well hidden look- before both nodded silently.

"Crazy right? I heard he fell..." Flash trailed off, looking at the pair. "It was on the news this morning" Peter looked up startled, damn it, he thought. He concentrated on making his voice even. Gwen squeezed his hand under the table.

"What'd the news say?" He asked, looking generally interested. Sam met his eyes and bit his lip.

"They said he was murdered-" Peter's breath hitched silently as Casey spoke. Gwen noticed she only pointedly spoke to Peter. "Killed in cold blood- they said." Everyone was silent now. She was still only fixating her light orbs on Peter, but no one other than Gwen seemed to notice. "They're gathering suspects. Students and teachers. I'll bet they'll catch the _murderer _soon enough." She stopped talking and Peter grit his teeth.

"Well enough of that, we should really be getting on with this!" Gwen said cheerfully, breaking the awkward silence. She knew if given the chance the others would want to discuss Wells death more.

"So, what'd we gotta do?" Peter asked the group. Casey, beside him, sighed in irritation, her entire demeanour from hateful and spiteful changing immediately to just plain confused and frustrated. Gwen still watched Casey. She was stealing glances to look at Peter. _There's something with her... I just can't put my finger on what..._

"We have to create a theoretical experiment to- and I quote-" she quoted using her fingers in the air- "find the chemical properties of super-heavy elements." Beside Gwen Sam groaned in frustration. "We're not getting _anywhere!_" she slammed her copy of their text book on the table causing people across from them to hiss at them and a warning look from the librarian.

Peter and Gwen studied the pages on their textbooks. Sam spoke, "We haven't been able to find _anything _at _all. _It's like there's just no way-" he was about to continue, but Peter interrupted him.

"So we're not interest in finding the number of protons and neutrons in the super-heavy elements, but also the physical and chemical properties in exact number- like boiling and melting points. Since it's of course impossible to measure them _directly, _we can do it _indirectly." _Gwen seemed to be the only one who got what Peter was saying. The others just stared. "We can simply distinguish a multifaceted integer by assessing and calculating the volatility." Flash looked perplexed. Casey, Dean and Sam seemed like they were trying to catch up with what he was saying but not really getting it.

Gwen sighed as if it was the most obvious answer ever. She smiled. "That'll also tell us whether the elements are soluble in water or acid and how the elements bind and react with other atoms and molecules!" she looked at her boyfriend and squeezed his hand. "That's ingenious, Peter!"

"Umm, what?" Dean and Sam both exclaimed simultaneously then looked at each other in a strange manner. Flash and Case didn't get much either, by the looks of it, so Peter explained further.

"Charged Hydrogen and Helium nuclei are accelerated up to sky-scraping speeds and assailed against slender metal-made foils. This simply produces a rise to radioactive metal ions that bear the similarity to the super-heavy elements. It is then possible to perform experiments on the metal ions" he finished with a few hand gestures that made Gwen inwardly giggle.

"Knew it was a good idea to have you on our team, Brain Boy" Flash smiled cheerfully and pulled out a fresh piece of exercise paper. "How 'bout you guys summaries that?"

"Well it's simple really-" Gwen began, but Peter interrupted her,

"I'm just gonna, er, go bathroom" He said, excusing himself. Gwen's eyes widened and she looked at him, silently asking the question she couldn't say. He just gave her a solemn look before standing up and rushing away.

_Peter..._

When Peter finally excused himself, he hurried out of the library, grabbing his bag with him, knowing his Spider-Man mask was inside. His Spidey senses were going off like crazy, and he didn't know why. The light buzzing he felt became like a full-fledged earthquake in his head. He literally jogged out of the library and past the bathroom, not stopping. He only stopped once he was outside in the sun. There were plenty people around, hanging around the large library. Peter momentarily remembered that today was a local market day, when people brought merchandise from shops both outside and inside town, antiques, day-to-day items, anything really.

He walked across the town square and past the fleets of people shopping and examining items. He didn't know why he went outside, he just sort of felt like he _had _to. The odd, dangerous feeling at the back of his head increased and he found himself steadied himself on a pillar nearby.

Something's wrong, he thought silently but alarmingly to himself, but _what_? What gave him the feeling that some sort of magnified earthquake was going to erupt? He looked around quickly, scanning the place, looking for anyone or any_thing _that looked suspicious or out of place. There had to be _something, anything. _His eyes trailed over and scanned every single person in the crowd- which itself wasn't an easy task...

But there- a man, Peter saw only his bag, wearing a long black coat despite the hot weather. Peter didn't know why or even _how_, but he knew the man wasn't...right. He watched as the man walked into a deserted dark alley way that the sun didn't reach, right behind the library. Peter followed him, cautiously reminding himself that he wasn't wearing his mask. The man kept walking into the depths of the confined space and Peter crept behind him slowly, being extra careful to make sure he wasn't noticed. The strange man had brown hair and wore a gleaming fabric fedora. His steps began to quicken as he walked- then stopped.

Peter quickly hid behind a large garbage bin. On the opposing side, by another bin at the back of a local restaurant, the man looked around, and seeing no one, he crouched down. Peter knew something was _definitely _off now. It was about a minute or two before the man walked off to the other side of the alley way.

_What the hell?_ Peter thought. _Who is he? _He heard a particularly quiet beep where the man had just been. Quickly, he dissolved all thoughts of following the man and ran to the other side.

There, hidden by a collection of garbage bags and such, was a timer. A timer tied to a large collection of TNTs, set for ten minutes, enough to blow up something the size of a library.

**With Gwen, inside the library**

Gwen was worried. Peter had sent her _that _look. The look that said something-dangerous-is-going-to-happen- and-I'm-going-to-find-out-what. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Peter was fine. He had to be. He was _going _to be. She couldn't stop the nervous tapping of her foot as she thought about how he seemed. Just on edge. Then she remembered how Casey had acted around him...

She turned and looked at the other girl, taking notes from her text book. Yes, there was definitely something going on there, but Gwen just couldn't pinpoint what.

She snapped out of her thoughts as she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, snapping her out of her deep worries. She quickly pulled it out and excused herself from the others, saying she would be back in a second. Moving to an empty corner by a bookshelf, she looked at the caller ID.

She was taken back since she had been expecting her mum, or Mikeala, perhaps. Not Peter. Hurriedly, she answered the phone. Nothing is wrong, she told herself.

"Gwen-" she heard Peter's voice on the other side of the phone. Something was wrong, just by the tone of his voice; she could tell it was something bad. Really bad.

"Peter what's going on? Are you alright? What happened?" she said quickly, rushing her words, her mind filling with the worst case scenarios.

"Listen- Gwen, I don't have any time to explain. You need to get everyone out of the library- _now_" his voice was breathless and hurried,

"What? Peter-" he didn't let her speak, panic slowly crept into his voice,

"Gwen, there isn't any time at _all_. I need you to get everyone out of there. _Now_"

**REVIEW Please they make me write so much faster. Because of the wonderful reviews ad alerts and favourites I got, I finished this and posted it today rather than tomorrow like I planned! Free Cookies for reviewers! They make me smile The next chapter should be up very soon... **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! Thank you for all the kind reviews! It's one thirty in the morning and I just finished this- so sorry if there's any mistakes. I don't know if this chapter's any good- I've never really written fighting scenes before. So enjoy, and tell me what you think :) Read and Review!**

Promises Unkept IIII

When Gwen heard her boyfriend's urgent tone of voice through the speaker, she knew she had to get everyone out. And fast. She momentarily wondered what on earth was going on that it required an evacuation. She was almost a hundred and ten percent sure it had something to do with Peter's senses going off earlier. How he got a bad feeling before that got to the library, how it became worse a time slowly ticked away.

Damn it, she swore silently. If she had just listened when he first told her he felt that something was off, then maybe, just maybe, not everyone's lives would be in so much danger. Well she assumed this was a life-or-death situation. She wasn't taking any chances.

Quickly, less than ten seconds since the call with Peter ended, she had been rushing through the library, past children and adults and elders alike, not bothering or waiting to excuse herself or apologise. Her flats were thumping loudly against the navy-blue carpeted floors as she forced herself to calm down- and despite Peter's urgencies- slow down. It wouldn't do anyone good if she got kick out of the library.

Finally, she got to the opposing side of the library, where she found exactly what she was looking for. Before her was a thick glass case glued to the wall with a large red button inside, reading: FIRE – FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY. They had, they being the committee, momentarily made this the 'fire button' rather than using fire alarms because of an incident when they didn't work, and were now being checked, replaced and investigated.

Beside the glass case there was an electric keypad also stuck to the creamy-white painted wall. STAFF PASSWORD, the top read clearly in a bright orange, clear font. She knew there was no way in hell she could get a password from anyone with the seemingly limited time she had. Plus, who would listen to her without a proper, contained explanation?

So she resulted to the next best thing. Looking around to make sure no one was there, she turned around to a large wooden oak bookshelf. The books were all neatly lined up, all novels about five-hundred pages thick- when she spotted exactly what she hoped to.

It was a small stool, the type people stood on to reach high places, despite the fact it was so short. It wasn't meant to be moved at _all, _only designed for reaching certain areas of that particular bookshelf. Gwen quickly bent down and placed her hands at either side of it, before lifting it up with enough might.

It was heavy- heavier than she imagined, weighing a few kilos in total. She knew the library committee had designed it so heavy so it wouldn't be moved from it proper position, but couldn't understand why they simply hadn't bolted it to the ground. She was glad, and thankful they hadn't, though.

She gritted her teeth, and in one smooth motion, lifted the stool up completely, before swing it at the protected vivid crimson button.

The first loud crack was heard, though thankfully it wasn't loud enough for others beyond the bookshelves nearby to hear. She took another deep breath. The stool really was heavy, heavier than she initially thought. Without waiting for her arms to numb out and drop the stool, she braced herself and swung with all the strength she could muster.

The two swings of full force with the heavy metal stool was all it took for the glass if completely shatters. Hundreds of small crystal glass pieces tumbled to the soft dark ground with light clatters. Gwen noticed, behind another large bookshelf- a librarian turning to the sound of the breaking glass. As the middle-aged woman with greying hair and a stoic figure began making her way towards the disruption- Gwen didn't think twice. Her hand immediately shot out and pressed the Fire Emergency button.

Almost instantly, alarms blared insanely. They were loud and beeped in a concentrated loud monotone ring continuously. Sprinklers attached to the ceiling of the library opened, and began raining sharp drops of water on every possible surface. The librarian Gwen had seen walk towards her earlier, looked in complete panic as she jogged back to some civilians and pointed urgently towards the door, telling them to clear out.

Gwen left the scene immediately and hurriedly, rushing with the others towards the exits in pretend panic.

**With Peter**

Peter had never disarmed bombs. He called the police already, but it was obvious they were going to be a minimum of a long ten minutes away. That was too many minutes too late. He bit his lip in concentration. His bag was on the floor by the bin and he was in his Spider-Man suit, trying to figure out what to do with the dangerous explosive. Five minutes, he had. Less than five minutes now. He could take the bomb, but put it where? There weren't any oceans or wide clear desert lands nearby.

He had called Gwen, and told her what was going on. And now he had a bomb, going off in about four-minutes and thirty seconds and absolutely no idea what to do. He had examined it already. No loose wires or anything, perfectly set, evidently made by an expert. He tried to remember how to disarm bombs- thing is, he had never known how to in the first place.

Something at the back of his head told him to concentrate on the blue, red and yellow wires- like they were the main ones. He took a deep breath. Every single wire seemed to be connected to everything. He raked his mind for answers. Four minutes. He knew somewhere in the depths of his mind that his Spidey senses knew how to disconnect everything. He just wasn't sure he'd have long enough to.

_Blue... red... blue...red..._

He was leaving this to pure instinct. His head told him it wasn't the yellow wire. Why, how? He didn't know. He swallowed and exhaled slowly. He knew if he had enough time he might've been able to figure it out, but the thing is –he _didn't. _

Blue... or red?

"Damn it!" he cursed loudly, suddenly not caring if anyone was around to hear him or not. Three minutes and forty-nine seconds. He couldn't count on every single person being out of the library when this thing went off. He had a choice, it was a fifty-fifty chance. There was no way he could get the bomb somewhere far enough in three and a half minutes. Even if he could, where was he supposed to throw it? It was a busy Saturday afternoon, there were civilians _everywhere._

He licked his lips, before noticing something. There was a light buzz somewhere in his head, he noticed, that head behind the obvious pang of his current major dilemma. He paid close attention to it before his Spider senses picked it up- someone was there, behind him. His mind flashed to the timer attached to the bomb- two and a half minutes.

He felt the sensation rise before he heard the voice.

"Put your hands up!" It belonged to someone in their forties, Peter deducted. Male, and probably with a gun trained at the back of his head. Peter slowly turned around, bomb still in hand, ticking at two minutes and twenty seconds. The man was a police officer, his dark blue uniform representing him as one. True enough, his revolver was held steadily in his hands, aiming at Peter. "Put the object down... Spider-Man...!" he yelled, murmuring the last part, clearly not realising that the 'object' was a bomb.

Peter then noticed with a pang that it was probably the policemen he had called earlier. He didn't move the man sneered. Peter wanted to role his eyes and take the gun away from him, but knowing the man, he probably had back up. Peter didn't want to start that kind of fight when his was in this particular situation.

"Listen- officer" the man looked at him threateningly. "In my hands-"he motioned to the package held tightly in between his fingers, "is a bomb set to go off in less than two minutes and twenty seconds" he finished, looking at the officer for a reaction.

The man paled considerably, contrasting greatly with his jet black hair. His gun wavered slightly before readying again, this time he looked down right furious, which surprised Peter greatly.

"Where the hell do you get off making jokes like that!" he yelled. Peter was suddenly not just _surprised_, but oh so very _bewildered_. This man thought he was _joking? _"Put the damn thing down and take the mask off!" He yelled loudly again, almost making Peter groan in annoyance. Peter glanced at the timer; one minute and forty seconds. _Damn it this is wasting too much time!_

Peter was about to yell at the man- force him to come to his senses- when something happened. Something quite unlike anything Peter had ever seen in his life. A head sprouted from the ground.

From the solid, oh so _very _solid concrete ground a shaped formed- yes, Peter was right- it was a head. There was no hair on the head, just gleaming red evil eyes, slits where the nose should be, and a twisted thin sneer. Slowly, shoulders came above ground. It was the body of a man. A man whose skin was literally chalk white. His shoulders were covered in a black fabric- and Peter realised it was similar to the coat he had seen the man who lead to the bomb wear before.

The officer clearly didn't realise anything was wrong. Everything happened in a range of about ten seconds. Peter clutched the bomb tightly and sprang his other hand straight at the officer's chest, before firing webs and pulling him towards him. The man- monster- had finally gotten completely above ground and had swung his hand- or rather _claw_- at the place where the other's back would have been. If Peter hadn't pulled the officer away, he would have been ripped completely in half.

The officer yelped and his gun went off- firing a bullet disturbingly closely to Peter's head and embedding it in the brick wall behind him. He didn't have time to protest, because Peter had yanked him using the webs on his chest- to behind him, so that the man had a clear view of why Peter pulled him away.

For a split second before anything happened- Peter caught a glimpse of how the attacker looked like. His first assumption was correct. Flaming, gleaming red haunting eyes, slits, and lips so thin they couldn't belong to any human. That was when he also noticed the fangs. The man's coat was the tone of charcoal and reached his ankles, he wore shiny leather shoes to go with it.

The officer's eyes widened in surprise- he was petrified, but he didn't drop his gun, much to Peter's surprise who figured he would have cowered away in the corner. Forgetting about Peter and his 'joke' he fired a solid three rounds at the monster, aiming right at his head and chest. Apparently the assailant had other ideas, though, and did not wish to be shot. He moulded into the ground just as quickly as he'd come, the bullets firing straight through thin air and forcing themselves into the brick wall.

Peter didn't have any time to wonder, because almost immediately his senses stung, and he shot webs at the policeman again, this time rather than slinging him close; he slung him to the end of the alleyway, avoiding another slash of the monster.

"Who are you?" Peter asked him, as they stood facing each other. The attacker's sneer turned into a twisted smile that sent shivers up Peter's spine. "_Who are you_?" He pressed. He momentarily realised with a bitter sort of amusement that he'd had a very similar conversation to someone who'd tried to kill him less than five days ago.

The other just barked out laughter, a sort of animalistic sound that Peter didn't want to hear ever again. "Laurent Malice, I am called" If the situation had been any different, Peter would have laughed. Malice? What a suited name. Malice spoke again, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. "You weren't supposed to arrive yet, no. No you were supposed to arrive when the blood was shed!" He yelled- almost angrily. He had a sort of French accent that didn't suit him at all. He took a few steps forward, when Peter remembered the ticking-time bomb in his hands, literally.

One minute left.

"Why are you after me? Why are you willing to kill _dozens _just to get my attention?" Spider-Man yelled at him, clutching the bomb tighter, wincing as his broken wrist was disturbed. Down the alley he could hear the police officer calling for backup.

"You have been causing us trouble, Spider-Man" he disappeared, and would've sliced Peter's feet off if he hadn't jump and swung, hanging from the side of the building, almost at the top, so many feet above ground. Malice appeared again, before sinking like liquid and vanishing.

Peter hung to the side of the building, feverishly looking at the concrete for any sign of the other man. The bomb ticked- fifty seconds. He winced. Where was he? Peter thought to himself as he kept searching. _He can only appear on ground- no... _Peter quickly shot out webs from his web-slingers to the other side of the building as the top half of Malice appeared with a large, gleaming silver butcher knife, and stabbed right into the place Peter had been.

_Any surface, he can appear on any sold surface. _All in a second, a collection of at least twenty officers ran into the alley, runs raised and ready to fire. Peter ignored them and swung up, lifting himself to the roof of the building.

Malice appeared right behind him as he landed, and swung at him with the knife. Peter, momentarily dazed by the sudden appearance- dropped the bomb.

Without thinking he shot out webs and stuck it to the side of the opposing structure. Apparently his aim had been slightly off, because only a single string of crystal web caught the TNT. It hung- the timer ready forty seconds. Peter didn't have time to do anything else before he brought both hands instinctively together to stop the over sized knife from slicing his torso.

The man was stronger than him- and forced the knife to his skin, cutting Spider-Man slightly before Spider-Man stuck his leg out and tripped Malice. The force of the knife at his chest wavered and Peter took the chance, mustering all the force he could into a round-house kick. Peter stumbled back and was nearly at the edge of the building by less than a meter.

He was sure he'd cracked and broken more than a few ribs, because Laurent wavered and the knife cluttered to the floor. He sunk into the ground faster than light and appeared directly behind Peter, his arm shooting out and holding Peter against him in a choke hold. Peter struggled to breathe, and instead of making- he duly noted- the same mistake as last time he was being strangled, and moved his elbow in a powerful hit to Malice's ribs rather than instinctively wrapping his fingers of Malice's arm and trying to pry it off.

Malice stumbled back and off the building- but not before pulling Spider-Man down with him.

He kept a hold of him as they fell down three stories. Peter broke an arm free and fired a web to the building- holding himself two stories off the floor. Laurent hadn't yet let go, and was now at Peter's ankles, dragging him down. The web threatened to break at Peter lashed out and tried to kick Malice.

Malice had scraped his claws into Peter's ankle, making him yell out in pain. He used his other hand and tried to shoot web at Malice's eyes to get him to waver, but the other figured out what he was planning and Malice's hand grabbed Peter's wrist, pulling the entire glove off his hand.

The glove along with the slingers tumbled down and crashed at the floor, splattering into a thousand pieces.

"I'll KILL YOU! EVEN IF IT'S THE LAST THING I EVER DO!" As Peter lashed out and tried to get Malice to let go, the string weakened immensely. His none-gloved hand clawed helplessly at the wall. Malice's demeanour which was calm and arrogant before had turned so utterly different now. He was raging and furious and his claws of both hands were now digging not just at Peter's ankle, but also deep into his thigh- in an agonizingly painful manner.

On the other side of the building- there was a beep. So low, but loud enough for Peter to hear. He momentarily stopped lashing out and watched in horror as the timer of the bomb began counting down-

T-Minus ten seconds.

He desperately tried kicking Malice off, but his claws dug so deep into Peter's leg, he almost couldn't feel it. The blood began to pour from Peter's wounds he was positive Malice had dug his claws into an artery... That was when Peter got an idea. Such an insane idea- but he had no choice.

Nine seconds.

Peter's only hope was to get Malice off of him. He couldn't do that whilst hanging of the side of the building. In a moment of absolute insanity, he broke of the thin thread of web holding him to his life.

Eight seconds.

Malice's eyes widened as he realised what Peter had done. As they fell through the air, Peter used his only web-slinger to shoot web at his eyes- blinding and confusing him for just a second. Instinctively, he let go of Peter's leg and tried to rip the web of his eyes.

Seven seconds.

Two meters of the ground and Peter fired webs to the other building wear the bomb was and launched himself there. He tried to hold on- but it was so hard with all the black spots dancing around his vision.

Six seconds.

He became dizzy and the blood loss finally got to him- but he stuck. He watched as Malice fell- and fell- yet didn't hit the ground- but went through it, disappearing immediately. Spider-Man didn't- couldn't- care though. His un-gloved hand pressed against his injured leg and came back with what Peter could swear was about a litre of blood.

Five seconds.

The bomb wavered and the web holding it to the building snapped- but Peter sent another weak one to hold it. He could barely see through the dizziness and the wavering dimness, but forced himself to look. He was a good five meters from where the bomb was- and that was when he realised- there was no way he was going to get to it in time.

Four seconds.

Thoughts completely strayed from the person who just tried to kill him and still mortally wounded him, Peter carefully- as carefully as he could manage- aimed his web-slinger at the wires of the bomb, then wavered and nearly fell off.

Three seconds.

His limbs barely slung to the red brick wall when the bomb's web broke. That was when he slipped.

Two seconds.

He held himself last minute and gasped against the wall. The bomb fell in seemingly slow motion. The policemen below were frozen until one of them yelled for everyone else to jump- duck.

One second.

That was when Peter finally fired his webs, and pulled out the red wire. Hoping to death he didn't just kill them all.

**With Gwen.**

Gwen was pushed out of the library as policemen crowded the large, oversized shopping area. Peter must've called them, she thought. They began calling an evacuation, telling everyone to leave and get as far away from the library as possible.

She was worried, to say the least, extremely and utterly worried. She wanted so damn bad to just go and find Peter- but she couldn't whilst the police officers were forcing her away from where she wanted- needed- to go. She groaned in frustration... then suddenly, at the corner of her eye- saw an opening.

There a building on the other side of the pavilion was an abandoned office building with a 'For Lease' sign on it. Gwen fought her way through the crowd, pushing and jamming, then past the panicked police officers until she was about three metres away from the old wooden entrance. With any luck, the building would have a back exit. She figured since the cops were trying to get everyone_ away _from the other side then that was where Peter would be. She spotted Flash, Dean, Sam and Casey with the crowd, and could swear that for a moment there- Casey caught her eye and sent her a stony glare.

Ignoring the evil stare and the butterflies in her stomach, though, she quickly pushed past a worried, scared group of teenagers with skateboards and bikes, and rushed to the door of the building, slipping in without anyone noticing, then silently thanking the fact that it was open day, and that the door itself had been unlocked.

The building was four stories high and empty of everything. Gwen quickly glanced around and scanned everywhere, before finally finding another exit on the right hand side corner of the other side. She ran as fast as she could and yanked the door open, revealing a cold alley way to her. She stepped into the cold breeze as she hurriedly looked up and down- searching for Peter.

She spotted someone- on the other side. The man wore a long black coat and leather shoes. He was pale and bald. For a frightening second as he turned around- Gwen thought his eyes glowed a deep scarlet red. He disappeared around the corner though, and Gwen quickly forgot him, trying to find who she was looking for.

There was someone else there, she realised, on the other side. In the distance, limping badly. He had chestnut toned hair and dark chocolate eyes she would recognise anywhere. As she got closer she realised his limp was worst than she had first assumed and thought. His entire left leg was bleeding, and his broken left wrist was out of its cast and hanging limply by his side.

"Oh god Peter" She sprinted as fast as her legs would take her, meeting him half way. He was out of his Spider-Man uniform and blood marred his very step- everywhere he stood the crimson liquid pooled by his injured leg, whilst his back-pack hung off his right shoulder.

He smiled at her, his lip cut and bleeding. He stumbled and almost fell. He would've- if it wasn't for her hands steadying him. "This is becoming quite a habit..." he laughed at his own joke. Gwen couldn't help it- she smiled. Less than two days ago he had walked up to her, injured and bleeding, and she stitched him up and made him better. But this seemed different...

She looked at his leg quickly, scanning it as thoroughly as she could manage. It was a bloody and mangled mess. "Peter you have to go to the hospital." He raised an eyebrow. She glared at him. "Peter, Peter if I don't call an ambulance, you are going to bleed out." She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. An artery was probably pierced, and inside she was screaming in a deranged panicked tone of voice.

Peter just smiled- he just _smiled_ before falling to the side, body slamming straight into the dirty concrete. He heard Gwen screaming his name somewhere at the back of his mind. She was kneeling beside him, shaking him, tears springing into her eyes. He tried to talk- to open his lips, but that was when he tasty the metallic flavour of copper at the back of his throat, before the scarlet droplets oozed down his chin agonizingly slowly. He blacked out several times, before being forced back into reality for a single moment...

He didn't remember much after that- in fact, he thought he was hallucinating...

Because the last person he saw, kneeling beside Gwen, was Curt Connors.

**BAM BAM BAM. Evil cliffy, eh? Just so you guys remember (in case anyone's forgotten) at the end of The Amazing Spider-Man Dr. Conners is sent to jail after he turned all lizard and Peter had to stop him and stuff. So yeah :) Review please, it really makes my day. I LOVE YOU GUYS!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Do you know that feeling when you wake up and suddenly you see the review number on your story change from 28 to 43? IT'S AMAZING 3 thank you so much to all who reviewed! Your wonderful. Tell me if this chapter's a bit slow... ;)**

The sun was hidden by a valley of dark, grey clouds. Rain pelted to the ground like miniature icy daggers whilst the harsh winds redirected them. Hail began to form and crack against the old, worn window of the room, scratching it and creating little white lines like claw marks on the once clear glass. Inside the room, the figure lying on the hard bed stirred, and slowly, grudgingly opened his eyes.

The first thing Peter noticed was the thudding pain in his left leg. The second thing was the loud pounding in his skull. He was disoriented and confused, and had absolutely no idea where on earth he was. As his eye lids fluttered open, he was welcomed with the strong stale smell of dust. He took a few deep breaths and tilted his head slightly, attempting to get a better look of his accommodation.

It was small, and mostly empty. Other than the bed he lay on, there was an old, rickety wardrobe on the west wall, a small light wooden bedside table and a small TV under a fairly sized, aged and closed window. He licked his dried lips before all his senses came back to him- and that was when he noticed that the TV was on and blaring words that took a moment for his mind to make sense of.

"-Well there you have it, ladies and gentlemen." A tall, tan reporter with short uneven cut jet black hair with a microphone spoke. There was a large crowd behind her, in front of what looked like the local library. "The police have confirmed that the bomb was in fact real- and had the potential to destroy the _entire _city block" Peter tried to pay attention to her thick southern accent as memories came flooding back into his mind.

His fight with Malice, the police, calling Gwen, the bomb- the red wire. He groaned in an annoyed manner as he remembered why his leg felt like it was on fire- but stopped wondering about it when the reporter said something that caught his attention.

"-So, chief of Police, Mark Daemon, do you admit that Spider-Man has done good and once again save so many innocent lives?" Peter almost inwardly smirked, before he noticed the police officer he had saved earlier- earlier, when was earlier again? He didn't bother caring about the time as the policemen turned beetroot red and became flustered.

"Saved the city? _S-saved the city?"_ The man became enraged, before taking the microphone from the lady, snatching it and ignoring her protests. Peter listened intently to what the officer had to say- why he had become so angry. "Spider-Man is nothing but a cowardly-" he said some colourful words that earned angry yells from the crowd behind him. "He did this for his own _good. _The bomb was there because of _him- _he put everyone in danger!" Peter momentarily noticed Flash and the others in the background, looking just as mad as everyone around them. "We will find him, and Spider-Man- if you're watching this, we're _coming _for you. You'll be sorry!" the reporter snatched her microphone back before shooting Daemon a dirty look.

She was about to continue, before the TV signal suddenly cut off. The small TV screen became blurred, greyed, then finally- with a hissing screech that made Peter wince- shut off completely. He went over what he had just heard- it wasn't bad enough he had an underground major organisation after him- but now the entire police force too?

His mind suddenly went frantic as he remembered his girlfriend. His wonderful, amazing girlfriend, who had been kneeling in his puddle of blood, crying, the last time he remembered. But something at the back of his mind told her she was safe, that she was okay.

He sighed, looking bothered. He couldn't remember much of anything that happened. The last thing installed in his memory was falling- falling painfully on the grey concrete alley- then there was Gwen, and the pain in his leg that seemed to hurt less now. She had knelt beside him, yelling screaming- crying. He hated to see her cry- but he had black out, several times- tasting blood in between his lips- he momentarily licked his lips to make sure the copper taste was no longer there, satisfied when it wasn't. That was when it came back to him-

Doctor Curt Connors was there. Without thinking about it, in his slightly delirious state- he sat up. The pain that came from his thigh and lower was overwhelming. He gritted his teeth painfully, and still- somehow- forced himself up using his arms- jarring his broken wrist- but not caring. It took only a few seconds, and soon he was leaning back uncomfortably into the headboard, a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead.

Sighing and trying to relax, which he soon realised he couldn't do much of; he raked his memories and tried to remember if he really had seen Connors, or if had been someone who looked _like _him.

Blonde hair, round thin spectacles, one arm missing. It was definitely him. But why? And _how_? Connors was supposed to be in prison. Peter momentarily wondered whether he Connors was good or bad. He knew the Doctor had saved him, but people changed. He had become deranged and tried to poison all of New York. He had killed Captain Stacy.

Peter shuddered at the memory of Stacy bleeding to death in his arms, the crimson liquid pooling around him as he made Peter promise to stay away from his daughter. Peter felt guilty- and confused, but didn't have much time to go over his guilt- because slowly the door to the room- which was stationed on the east side- slowly creaked open.

Speak of the devil, Peter thought, as Curt Connors, there in the flesh, man of the hour, stepped into the room.

**SOMEWHERE ELSE, SAME TIME**

Malice ran through the furnished carpeted corridors as quick as he could manage, panting and in pain. His arms hugged his chest as he tried not to further aggravate his broken and crack ribs. _Damn that Spider-Man! _He cursed silently, stopping when he got to the right door. He took as deep of a breath as he could with his disoriented ribs, and attempted to straighten himself. Slowly, he clenched his hand around the solid gold door knob, twisted, and then pushed the door open.

He knew this was going to be bad. He had failed his lord and gotten hurt in the process. But he was strong; he knew his lord wouldn't end him. At least he hoped, oh god he really hoped.

When he stepped inside, it was warm. Too warm. His dirty but expensive shoes thudded against the carpet, whilst the blood that was not his, ran down his arm, before slightly drying. The other man was facing the left side on his large throne-like chair behind his antique desk. He faced a fifty inch plasma TV. There was a reporter on, confirming that in the nation's eyes, Spider-Man had saved the day again, whilst an unknown evil, crazed assailant had been seen fleeing the scene of the crime.

His master slowly twirled his chair to face him- and suddenly Laurent knew it wasn't going to be good- at all. Over all he looked fairly calm, but his eyes said different, his eyes said very, _very _different. They were burning his disgust and despise aimed at both Malice and Spider-Man. As gently as he could, he turned off the television and leaned onto the table, still sitting down.

"I order you to kill Spider-Man. I tell you to call his attention by ending the lives of those worthless people." He tone was so calm it was more than eerie. "And, Laurent, oh Laurent- what do you do? You turn him into a national hero. You allow him to save those lives. You come back injured whilst he is just as strong as before!" He yelled, his gentle demeanour suddenly forgotten as he hastily stood up and slammed his fist against the table. Malice jumped.

"I- I- my Lord- I injured him. His leg. I'm sure he should be dead-" He stuttered as the man before him looked no less than furious. Before he could do anything, two bodyguards, large, burly and armed, grabbed either of his arms, coming out of nowhere, and jarring his ribs.

"Did you at least find anything out?" His superior asked, attempting to keep his temper in check. Malice silently whimpered before clearing his throat, arms still imprisoned tightly.

"He- he is young" he said. The other looked surprised before nodded for him to continue. "I- I saw his antics, he tone of voice, he isn't as old as we've thought him to be. Maybe in his late twenties- maybe less." He took a deep breath.

"Interesting, interesting... anything else?" His Lord asked him. Malice raked his mind for a few moments before looking up with wide eyes.

"He had a back-pack" he said suddenly, and the other lifted an eyebrow at him. "Yes, it was hidden on the other side. I am sure it was his..." he trailed off, immediately looked uncertain. "There was a name on it..."

"Oh?" his ears perked up. "And did you _get _name?" he asked, looking very serious yet very anticipated.

"No my lord..." before he could fully finish his sentence, he was instantly cut off. He watched in horror as his superior turned to the men on either side of him and made a cutting gesture with his finger and his neck. "NO! NO- My Lord- please-" he begged and begged, but the men pulled tighter on his arms, and slowly pulled him out of the room, and to his death.

The man, the lord, sighed irritably and sat down on his seat, folding his arms and lacing his fingers, in a thinking manner. "Simon." He called lightly. He knew Simon was there, in the shadows, hiding, watching. Simon slowly stepped out of the shadows.

He wore what he wore every day. He tilted his head questioningly at his lord whose lips suddenly crept into a small foreboding frown. "You have the information I asked for, Simon?" he asked him. Simon merely nodded. In his hands was a black toned folder. He calmly walked to the desk and placed the folder on it, right in front of the older man. He opened it, and gazed through.

"Sir, I narrowed down the list of class members and came up with a total of ten. I was unsure of the teachers."He said, watching his master examine the file. He looked as if he were reading the Sunday paper, not a list of murder suspects.

The man flipped the pages, looking through the portfolios of both teachers and students in Well's Maths class. No, no, no... From the information he collected from Malice- Spider-Man was young. He took out the papers of teachers older than thirty, and then kept flicking through- before something caught his eyes. He momentarily stopped and scanned the picture.

There was hardly a chance of this student being Spider-Man, or responsible for the murder, but reading the information set about him...

He was an A+ student, with an IQ higher than probably every teacher at the school he attended. He had seen tragedy after tragedy and wasn't someone who liked to particularly stand out or make himself the centre of attention at any given time. He looked intently into the deep, mysterious chocolate eyes of the eighteen year old in the photo. He knew that he probably wasn't Spider-Man, probably no one even close. And he also knew that he shouldn't waste a single second longer on him or anything to do with him... But as he stared further into those large eyes framed by thick glasses, and dark messy hair, something intrigued him.

Something intrigued him about Peter Parker.

**With Peter, Same time**

Peter looked at Connors.

He was thinner than Peter remembered. He had bags under his eyes and a strange pale complexion to the tone of his skin. His blonde hair was messy and unruly and his clothes old and ragged. The stub of his missing arm was bandaged and tied and was resting comfortable by his side.

Peter didn't say anything- at first. He and Curt met eyes, Conner's gaze intent and serious whilst Peter's was uncertain and confused. He didn't speak or utter a single word as the older man walked in completely, closing the door behind him with his good arm. Peter forgot about the agonizing pain in his leg and the drumming in his head as he held the doctor's look.

"Peter..." Connors whispered softly with a hint of regret in his tone. Peter was still quiet- unsure of what to say, or of what to make of the entire situation in general. He wanted to ask so much, to know even more. How had Connors gotten out of prison? What was he doing here? Where were they? What on earth happened? But he didn't- he stayed silent. "Peter, my boy- I'm... I'm so sorry"

Whatever Peter was expecting- it wasn't this. His eyes widened as he stared at the other man. He didn't know _what _he had been expecting- but it certainly wasn't what he had gotten. He wasn't expecting an apology of _any_ kind. He noticed Connors was looking at him for a reaction- but he just stammered.

"D-Doc- you don't have to apologise" he said hurriedly, unsure why. The Doctor had tried to kill him more than once and almost succeeded both times. And yet he felt like he didn't deserve the apology he had received from the other man. Curt looked bewildered, he was about to say something, but Peter stopped him, successfully interrupting him. "Doc- you don't need to apologise. What happened before wasn't your fault. You were trying to help people..." he trailed off, looking down and biting his lip. "And plus, you saved my life."

Curt looked at him with a strange expression. He leant against the door and slumped foreword, crossing his single good arm across his chest. "You have a heart too big for your chest, Peter." The man smiled at him, and Peter somehow could help but smirking back. He shifted again as he remembered just how uncomfortable he was against the metal heard board- and winced as the fire that had been forgotten and numb slightly- grew and crawled up his leg. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tightly, taking a few deep breaths as his initial pain slowly past.

When the pain became bearable, he let out a relieved sigh and leaned back into the headboard, not caring if it was uncomfortable anymore. When he opened his eyes, Connors was leaning forward, looking at him with concern. He just did his best and tried to manage a smile, but he was more sure it came out as a grimace.

"'M fine..." he mumbled lightly, answering Curt's unspoken question. "So Doc, you gonna tell me what's going on?" he asked what he'd been wanting to know all day. He waited patiently; as Connors walked away from the door he leant and pulled out a chair that Peter hadn't even known existed. With a little difficulty, he placed the chair by Peter's beside and lightly sat down.

Peter began fiddling with the thin, navy-blue bed sheets when he noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. Instinctively, he gazed around, trying to find them. After spotting them on the bedside table, he relaxed- then slapped himself for not noticing them earlier. Quickly, he shot out his hand and grabbed them, before taking his time and putting them on. They gave him a strange sense of security. Just having them, wearing them. He sighed and did his best to pay attention to the words Curt was going to say.

"Peter... before your father left, we talked..." his voice was tired and strained. This wasn't what Peter was expecting at all. What did Connors getting out of prison have to do with his father? "I... I didn't know he was going to leave. It was after work- and he made me promise, Peter..." he trailed off and Peter could see the regret laced deep into his orbs. Peter swallowed and didn't stop fiddling with the quilt.

"He made me promise that if anything happened to him, _anything at all_," He paid as much attention as was possible, "that I would protect you and your mother, Mary. But then he disappeared, with Mary, and god, Peter I was just so _angry_" he stopped for a moment, looking ashamed. He looked at Peter who had an unidentified look in his eyes, before calmly continuing what he was about to say. "I left, Peter. And I stayed away from you and your aunt and uncle. I was so mad, and bitter, that I treated you how I had felt about Richard..." Peter looked at him through the thick glasses; his hands were fisted lightly in the thin material now.

"I should have seen it. When you told me you were your father's son, I was so surprised. When I had seen you at Oscorp, I knew you looked familiar- but I didn't want to believe it. Then there you were, giving me the equation-" Peter winced- "that could've changed the world. After I found out it was you- that you were Spider-Man- I didn't know what to do. The concoction turned me mad, all I wanted was _more. _Then you stopped me at the tower and you saved the city..." he stopped for a moment. Peter didn't know where this was going, and it seemed that Connors didn't either. He looked at him, _really _looked at him, for a second, before he sighed regretfully and continued.

"When I was in jail, someone came to me..." Peter's ears perked. "They let him see me and he asked questions. He dressed like an officer and had a warrant and all- but I knew he was so very different. How his eyes kept flashing red, the scar across his eye, the way he talked..."Connors looked apologetically at Peter who still didn't understand. Connors offered him a weak smile. "He asked me about Spider-Man. He said it was for the case they had against you- but I'd never heard of it. He wanted to know if you had any weaknesses, if I knew anything about you..." he took a deep breath to steady himself for his next words. "I lied; I told him I didn't know. Told him I was delirious and confused in whenever I transformed- that I didn't remember anything."

Peter remained quiet, waiting in silent anticipation for the answers that began the entire turmoil. "He left, unhappy and oh so very unsatisfied. It was only recently- near midnight, when two guards walked by my cell. They were talking about a murder- at your school, the teacher Jim Wells." Peter broke eye contact and stared at the ground in what Curt could only identify as guilt. "I didn't think much of it until they said the culprit had not been captured. That the chairs were broken, the desk dented and the black board cracked in half" the younger man remembered how hard Wells had slammed him against the board and winced, "I knew then- I knew what happened wasn't normal, I knew it was you. I had to leave- to warn you, Peter. I was so afraid that had found you..." he took a deep breath. "The guards, they figured I had given up. I had planned it perfectly. The guard came to check on me when I hadn't done or said anything for a long while. It was all mainly luck after that." Peter kept his attention focused on Connors.

"I escaped- but no one knows yet. The authorities don't want to cause panic. I was on the run- but I knew I had to get to you... And that was when I saw him. The officer- from a few weeks back. It was behind an old church in an abandoned alleyway, and I had been out and about in new clothes and a new identity from a few underground circuits. I saw the man, talking to someone by the name of 'Malice'" Peter's eyes widened in recognition, "He said they were sure that Wells had gone rogue, and tried to get Spider-Man by himself. He asked him if he wanted a chance- and the man agreed. I didn't hear much after that, but I knew they planned something big, they said it would be ready near the library..." He stopped talking and met Peter's dark orbs again. "I had to get to you, but I didn't know _how_. So I figured they wanted to draw you in. I looked at every alley near the square and the library, that's when they called an evacuation. That was when I saw Ms. Stacey, running to the other building." Peter inwardly wondered where Gwen was again, and then reminded himself she was safe. "And then that was how I found you. Blood pooling under leg in litres, looking half dead..."

Peter shared a gaze with the Doctor, suddenly wondering how things got so messed up. He could already imagine the headlines: World leading scientist arrested for transforming into giant lizard, after being taken down by teenager with super-human powers and senses adopted from the arachnid species. He almost laughed at his dry sense of humour, before remembering the recent events.

"What happened after that? How did we get away? Where's Gwen?" Peter asked, speaking for the very first time when what seemed like a long time. He was generally curious how they had, with police swarming the entire place.

Connors chuckled, but about what, Peter wasn't sure. "Gwen is resting, first of all. And secondly, that was my first ever car robbery" Suddenly Peter smirked, the heavy tension, stale like the dust in the air, which had built up- had suddenly and instantly vanished, for no particular reason. Curt looked at Peter for a moment, before he sighed tiredly. "We helped you to the backseat of the Honda; I drove while Gwen tried to get the bleeding to stop- or slow down. I was so sure we were going to lose you- but you made It." there was a short silence before Curt continued. "We're at an abandoned building I've been staying. It was closer than Ms. Stacey's house, and I've stocked everything already- along with first aid."

Peter laughed a little, smirking. "And here I was wondering how you got a have dead guy bleeding buckets in a hotel lobby full of people..." Connors smiled back.

"I stitched you up. It took a while, and it was very messy. I'm just so thankful my father was a surgeon..." he trailed off, glimpsing at Peter who was experimenting moving his leg, slowly- less than an inch or so at a time. "Peter you understand what this means, correct?"

Peter sighed. "They're after me." He said shortly.

"Yes Peter and they're dangerous. They're dangerous and their out for your blood. They've sent two people after you already- and they were ready to kill dozens just to lure you in..." He gritted his teeth, "I heard- whilst I was in prison, from some- 'others', that some underground organisation has been experimenting on human beings..."

"You think it's them, you think they're the ones after me" Peter inhaled deeply, before fiddling and fixing his glasses, and gently biting the inside of his cheek- looking distressed.

"Yes, I believe it may be them- but _why _I don't know. Peter if they sent a _teacher _after you-" he was cut short by the younger man, who lifted a hand.

"They don't know who I am. Wells knew but he didn't tell them..." Peter sucked in a breath as the horrible weather outside began to worsen, the shady skies greying and darkening further. The rain splattered, mended with hail, on the window so hard Peter was sure they could've cracked through the glass.

"Peter you need to lay low for a while. No Spider-Man just for a bit-" Peter looked like he was about to protest, so Connors didn't let him. "For a _little while. _Peter, if they catch you in your Spider-Man suit they _will_ go after you. They will not stop at _anything_ to see your blood pouring." He stopped short, before getting up. "Gwen will see you when she wakes. But for now, rest, Peter." And with that and a simple nod, he left, leaving Peter sitting slumped and unsure of how he was feeling.

All in about twenty-four hours, he had almost died, saved a city block, escaped an assassination attempt, had the entire Police Department claim that they will rest at nothing until they had him in their clutches, encouraged a prison break and a car-robbery, disarmed a bomb, almost had his leg ripped off, found that the person he'd tried to kill from poisoning the entire city had saved his life, and never actually got anything done on the Science Project.

With a loud sigh, he managed to go back to a lying position, closed his eyes and fell asleep without even taking his glasses off.

**Meanwhile, Somewhere Else**

"So give your final commending statement as to why I should appoint you our new head Biology teacher..." the principle asked the man with the longish brown hair and onyx eyes sitting opposite him, on the other side of the desk.

"You saw my resume, sir. I love teaching; it has always been a passion of mine. After my father's passing as a scientist, he taught me a single lesson- teach what others cannot learn alone." The man said with a smile. He was going to get it, just as ordered. With an inside self-satisfied smirk; he added a bright excited twinkle to his eyes.

"Well I must say, your resume underestimates you." The principle chuckled lightly. He smiled widely at the other man.

"So that's it then sir?" he asked, keeping his mask in place. His dark eyes smiled for him as he stared at the naive man in front of him, lounging lazily behind his desk, awards for school and students of the year decorated the fairly-sized office. He laughed, before standing up. The man did the same, and over the desk they shook hands and traded smiles.

"I welcome you to Midtown Science High school as our new Head Biology teacher, Mr. Simon."

**What'd you guys think? Please review, you make my day Thank you!**


	6. Chapter 6

**EARLY CHAPTER! I was planning to upload this tonight, but because of the large amount of review it encouraged me to finish it this morning and post it now (afternoon). Okay so I'm not the best with 'FLUFINESS' and that is exactly what I've tried tell me what you think about it. Thank you for the reviews, they make my day :) Keep 'em coming for more action, drama (cause I love being evil to the good guys) and what you've all been waiting for: PETERXGWEN! Woo!**

Promises Unkept IIIIII

It didn't take long for the pelting daggers of rain and frozen crystal icicles of hail to lessen. The depressingly dim, grey clouds, however, seemed to be moody and decided to stick around, hiding the sun's basking bright rays of glory from the loud, busy city below it. The wind generally picked up every hour or so, before fading then coming back at full force, causing the thin trees stationed around houses and across roads to sway mechanically with their gentle yet rocking rhythm. Cars honked loudly from main roads and highways at slow moving traffic and speeding vehicles.

Gwen sighed as she tilted her head back, staring at the dark sky. She clutched her boyfriend's hand tightly, and he squeezed back. She turned to him and he smiled, and suddenly- all her worries seemed to vanish. The people who were always after him, the dangers he always managed to get himself rooted in the middle of, the insanity and laws he always had to hold his head above to save innocent citizens.

The past few days had not been fun. Almost losing him twice in the spam of about twenty-four hours, stitching up his wounds, fixing up his bruises, holding his head in her lap as she pressed against his leg with bandages and jackets to stop him from bleeding to death, finding Doctor Connors and stealing a car with him, have him tell her his theory on the underground organisation that will stop at nothing to have Peter's bloodshed, watching him as he pushed a needle and thread into Peter's flesh whilst telling her to pass him the needles, bandages and such.

Yes, to say it had been a hectic few days would have been an understatement.

They had left Doctor Connors who told them to act as 'normally' as possible and made sure Peter promised not to wear his suit this morning, and rather leave it with him, after promising to a reluctant Peter, that he would stitch and fix the holes and tears. So now, they were on their way to school, after having dropped by a short visit to Aunt May and Peter's place. He checked on his Aunt- who for some reason seemed for tired than usual, but fine overall- had a shower and then a change of clothes, without the suit- having left it at the abandoned building, before Aunt May had invited Gwen over for dinner then bid them good-bye. They were about ten minutes away from the school gates as it began to drizzle so lightly it was almost unnoticeable.

She sighed lightly, and Peter turned to look at her, giving her one of his adorable, cute confused stares through his thick glasses. "Something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I just..." What was she supposed to say? I'm-what? Worried about you? Afraid for you? Don't want to put your mask and become the super anti-vigilant New York loves so much? He squeezed her hand in comfort, and smiled gently at her. Her heart silently fluttered. After all this time, no matter how comfortable she felt with him, no matter how much she loved him, with a single smile and a twinkle of his eyes he managed to get her heart beating two hundred and fifty miles an hour. She did her best to ignore the feelings of butterflies sprouting her stomach and exhaled slowly.

"I don't want to lose you Peter." The words were out of her mouth before she realised, or could stop them, despite the fact she had been thinking about those few words for what seemed like a while now. She didn't know what to expect as a reply from him, so she waited.

Beside her she heard him sigh lightly, before gripping her hand tighter in a comfortable manner, and drawing her close, so that their arms were touching. He had a strange look in his orbs as she gazed at him intently. The rain fell harder and pelted lightly against her cheek, but she ignored them.

"You won't lose me Gwen. Ever." He spoke so softly, if she wasn't listening so closely she could have mistaken it as the rustle of the winds as they began to strengthen. She couldn't help it; her emotions were raging through her, her heart beating exaggeratingly. She gritted her teeth, and with a quick motion, pulled her hand away from Peter's, and quickly walked a few steps ahead of him. It was too much. Everything was too much. How could tell her it was going to be okay? The first tear fell down her pale cheek, fading into the new onslaught of rain.

"Gwen! Gwen!" Peter yelled, limping as quickly as possible to get to her, his leg's once numb state differing as if fire began crawling at his ankle. He his flinch as best he could, trying to ignore the pain that slowly ran to his knee, but he finally got to her. He then noticed- quickly- the silver tears streaking her beautiful face, and felt his eyes become misty. He hated it when she cried. He grabbed her wrist lightly with his good hand and stopped her, slowly pulling her towards him.

She refused to meet his eyes. Gently, with the hand that wasn't holding onto hers, he used his index finger and softly lifted her chin up to face him. He looked deeply into her bright eyes. The raw, loving, caring, _sad_, _conflicted_, _cheerless_ emotions had raged a storm and Peter could see right through it. He gazed through the blizzard of rampant feelings and found the light at the end of the tunnel. The calm love she showered him with. The wonderful affection she planted in his heart. The piece of it she'd stolen and replaced with her own. He couldn't feel the rain whipping against his skin as he drew closer and closer to her. He couldn't feel the wind lashing out and messing his hair even further. All he could feel was her beautiful gaze on him, her light minty breath on his lips. That was - when he pulled her closer, and their lips met, in a relaxed, tranquil kiss that spoke loudly what their voices couldn't whisper, what their words could never mean, what their emotions had become.

It was a slow and passionate kiss that lasted forever in their hearts. It was one they would never forget, because both of them had opened their souls through their love, and poured a little of themselves into it. When they broke off, their foreheads rested against each other. Their eyes fluttered shut as they stood in the middle of the street, dancing around the emotions one kiss meant. Peter slowly opened his dark, hazel eyes as Gwen followed in suit.

"I know..." she spoke- whispered, lightly, so lightly, "I know that it's _selfish_ of me to want you to take your mask of and never put it on again, and god Peter I'm so _sorry-_" he wanted to interrupt her, but she didn't let him. She placed a soft finger on his lips and continued- "I want you _home _every day, every night, I don't want to see you bleeding from wounds, I don't want to see you struggling to take a breath because your neck is so _bruised, _I don't want to see you hiding marks, and scratches and scars- god Peter- I just want you to _come back to me_" she choked on her words, and a sob erupted from her throat. Her finger dropped from her lips and she fisted both her hands in his shirt and dug her head into his chest, breathing deeply to calm herself down.

He didn't hesitate, and quickly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, his head resting softly on her shoulder. He waited a single moment- a single beat of her heart, before her moved his lips to her ears and whispered,

"Gwenever Stacy, I _love _you. I love you more than a human can physically love someone. I love your eyes, your smile, your hair, how you blush when you flustered, how you put your hands on your hips when you're being serious, your adorable grin, how you trust me enough to open your heart to me- your kindness, your devotion and your passion- your _love._" Her eyes widened and her cheeks reddened as he pulled away, but held her close enough for her to see his eyes. "There's no way in hell I'm ever leaving you. I'd go to hell and back just to see you smile. Gwen, I'm always going to be coming back- for you. Gwen I'll _always _come back for you- _to you_"

It was her who drew him in this time. Crushing her lips against his, savouring his minty tang and breathing in his intoxicating aroma. As their lips collided, their kiss was unlike the other. They fought for dominance, as his hand found her hips, and hers, his neck. This was an act of need, just to reassure them that they still had each other.

Gwen licked her lips as they left his. She relaxed against him, forehead to forehead, pouring in every wonderful, magical, enchanted emotion she felt into his heart. He smiled a beautiful, delicate, subtle smile that warmed her heart- and she returned it, just as carefree and tranquil as his.

Staring into his eyes made her feel as if part of a magical transcendence. It was a rare moment shared, when there were no studies, no work, no saving civilians or cities, no worrying or caring. When there was just them. When there was no one else, when the noises and the troubles and the problems and the _world _was faded into the background.

When they stood at the state of each other's hearts and minds alike. When there were no heart beats but their own.

"Do you believe me now?" Peter smirked playfully before backing away slowly, his limp slightly hindering. He held his hand out to her with a caring expression. Gwen exhaled softly before moving her hand and taking his offered one, lacing her fingers in between his own- when she couldn't help but notice who perfectly they fit.

"I've always believe you, Peter"

**At Midtown Science High School, Same time**

"So, Mr. Simon, do you have everything prepared?" Ms. Molly asked, lightly. Fixing her messy hair and getting it to stand down a bit, she walked over to the board as Simon, whom sat behind the large teacher's desk of the lab, answered.

"Yes, Ms. Molly, I'm sure my first trail day will go as planned" he smiled back, and it reached his eyes- just not the way it was supposed to. Molly managed a smile, before turning back to the white board and pulling out a white-board marker.

"So, you're basically teaching the lesson. I'm just here to assist and observe." She said to him, as she began scribbling out the lesson's plans about plants and genetic modification- they hadn't covered it before. She bit her lip lightly as she made a mistake, and then rubbed it out with her sleeve before writing down something similar.

"Do you mind if I take a look at the roll?" He asked, smiling as pleasantly as he could so it wouldn't seem too suspicious. He _was _supposed to be a teacher anyway. "I would just like to get a good handle on the names and all."

Molly turned to him and nodded, before going back to what she was doing before, minding her own business as he inwardly smirked. He licked his lips in anticipation and grabbed the file and flicked it open. He had to make sure. Scanning down the list of name he stopped at the one he was looking for.

"Peter Parker..." he mumbled without realising it. The other teacher paused what she was doing and glanced at him with a smile. "I just thought I've heard the name 'Parker' before..." he excused himself quickly, hoping it didn't sound too shifty.

"Oh well that's understandable. You must be thinking of Richard Parker, Peter's father." She said without paying much attention to her words, rambling off randomly. Simon's ears perked and he paid close attention, though he expertly made it seem as if he didn't really care.

"What happened to Mr. Parker?" he questioned, and she kept writing on the board before breathing an airy sigh, not glancing at him.

"No one really knows. Some say he disappeared, some say he's died in some sort of accident. Poor Peter though, faced so many tragedies in his life..." she trailed off, clearly not wanting to say more- but Simon _had_ to know more. He looked at her and met her eyes with a desperately confused look. He hoped she fell for it, and nearly jumped for joy when she did. "His uncle was shot, died in his arms. Has no other family except his aunt. His grades are amazing though..." she stopped talking as if in deep thought, probably going over his achievements.

H e moved from the desk he was behind and closer to her.

"Why are you asking all this anyway?" she suddenly asked him, making him freeze on the spot. He moved away from her and turned to the large desk facing the lab to hide his expression and pretended to read the list of names on the role again, mumbling them under his breath.

"No reason in particular. Just out of curiosity, mostly." He added the 'mostly' part just for his amusement. He smiled to himself silently as the loud, jeering bell rang above. Allowing himself self-satisfied thoughts as he remembered he was going to get to know Peter Parker.

**With Peter and Gwen, Same time**

After the two amazing kisses that made both their days, both Peter and Gwen walked to school- well Peter limped, though not as badly as before and considerably happier and in a much-more light-hearted manner. They were both in high spirits when they reached the school grounds, laughing and joking and forgetting about mad teachers, killer organisations, deaths, assassination attempts, and saving civilians.

No, they were just them, bright and happy- acting all goofy and dorky and certainly good natured. They smiled at each other. Not ten minutes ago they were both on the verge of tears- and had literally, _literally _admitting their love for each other was so strong their future was undeniable.

They collected their things from their lockers and headed towards their first class- which thankfully- they had together. Extension Biology was an interesting subject for both Peter and Gwen, considering their experiences with living things. They walked into the classroom hand in hand- and Gwen immediately noticed something was wrong.

Peter had let go of her hand, and his expression which had been calm and light-heartened to suddenly serious. His hand flew to the back of the neck and he rubbed the scar where he had been bitten, and quickly surveyed the room. Nothing was out of the ordinary- except- there was a new teacher.

As the couple took their seats at the back corner where they usually sat, they shared a knowing look, making Gwen silently curse for the quick worse turn of events. She looked at the trial teacher...

He had longish messy, straight brown hair that reached his broad shoulders, and dark black eyes. For a moment Gwen could swear he had been staring at Peter, staring curiously as he limped. Great, she thought sarcastically to herself as she copied Peter and took everything she needed out of her bag, just what we need, another crazed teacher after Peter's blood.

She mentally slapped herself at that morbid thought, but couldn't help believing some of her mind's strange wonderings. The love of her life was a magnet for trouble. And insane teachers, or so it seemed. She paid close attention to Peter, who seemed tense as he met the new teacher's eyes, but the older man just smiled- not in a pleasant way, but in a way that could make anyone believe he knew something no one else did. It made Gwen shudder.

When everyone was seated, with their books and pens out, the man introduced himself. "Hello, everyone, I'm Mr. Simon, and I'm the new head Biology teacher." He smiled again, and most of the students just shrugged. Everyone paid attention to him as he began the lesson, Ms. Molly- who was supervising him- sat in the chair behind the desk, going over the roll.

He began talking plants and thoughts on modification- Gwen didn't notice anything that was off about him, except the fact he kept glancing at Peter, who had begun to drum his fingers almost silently on the mahogany desk.

As the lesson had an approximate of five minutes to go, all worksheets were finished, and textbooks piled neatly in bags and such. The board had been wiped clean entirely. The lesson had been tough- they learnt things they weren't supposed to yet. Gwen realised that Peter was probably the only one who had followed everything without a problem.

"Does anyone have any idea- and I know you haven't covered this- about _genetic _modification?" He asked, looking curious. No one spoke, and the class was deathly silent. Simon's eyes gazed around and finally stationed themselves on Peter, who had taken to scribbling randomly on his page, seemingly not paying attention to a word Simon had said. Gwen knew what was going to happen even before it did. "How about you Mr. Parker?" Peter looked up, and _really _met the new teacher's eyes. There was a second of silence in the room before he said,

"Genetic modification" he began, motioning calmly with his hands, "is simply the alteration of hereditary make-up- such that the adaption is inherited on to the organism's progeny. Generally, it's a term that involves a number of developments - some of which are modern, some of which have been scheduled since the very speck of life first began, and some others which have been tactically utilised for tenths of thousands of years, since agriculture first broke out when the last ice age occurred." He didn't even pause as he spoke, "Though really, the simple term 'genetic modification' has lately only become used for the progression of 'genetic engineering', in which, generally, modern processed expansions of molecular biotechnology are engaged to introduce comparatively few genes into an organism's genome." He finished with an almost in audible sigh. The class stared and in her seat, Gwen silently smiled. Even she was always in awe and fascination of her boyfriend's genius. How he could be all 'minding his own businesses', not paying any attention, and still give you an entire textbook paragraph, whilst barely taking a breath.

Mr. Simon's eyes widened slightly, as if he had not been expecting that answer, let alone an answer _at all. _It took only a single moment, before he smiled cheerfully and clapped his hands together, his grin growing further.

"Perfect textbook answer, Mr. Parker. Why, it should be _you _teaching the lesson!" he said playfully, but Gwen saw right through it, and she knew Peter had too. The last thing Peter needed was the entire class's attention on him, but it was what he was getting anyway. There was a silence as Peter offered the teacher a weary smile, and Gwen wanted to yell at the teacher _so bad._

No one said anything, and the tension around the room grew as Mr. Simon's eyes were fixated solely on Peter's, who Gwen knew felt uncomfortable, but she had to credit her boyfriend, because he didn't show it. It seemed as if they were having a silent conversation, and the Cheshire grin that grew across Simon's face was undeniable.

Before things got too serious, Ms. Molly cleared her throat—and Gwen could've hugged her right there and then. She walked up beside Simon and he offered her a nasty smile. Molly cleared her throat again and licked her lips, before saying,

"Well class, just remember you've still got that _Science _project" he pressed on the words, and Gwen almost flinched. "It's due this Friday, so get ready for the initial presentation!" she offered the class a knowing smile which cleared most of the tension as some of the students chuckled.

That was when the bell rang, and Peter smiled at Gwen. She offered him a small one in return, but it was nervous. The collected their bags and followed everyone out the door- before they heard something. Mr. Simon, who had been watching the class leave, had cleared his throat. Gwen's first instinct was to run but-

"Mr. Parker, may I have a word please?" he asked, and Peter's eyes widened slightly. He stopped just at the door, and Ms. Molly- who Gwen was sure was ready to leave, pretended to drop her books and bent down to collect them. Did she see something too? Did she realise something was wrong? Peter turned, and Gwen followed in suit- "_Only _Mr. Parker, Ms. Stacey" he shot her a cold icy glare. Peter nodded to her,

"Wait outside." He whispered lightly to her, she hesitated- but nodded in the end, moving out the door and gently closing it behind her. When she did, Peter turned around and faced Simon with the best non-nervous smile he could come up with. Ms. Molly sat behind her desk, collecting more files and watching both of them, but Simon's back was to her.

Peter's senses were tingling- and not lightly. _Why is it always the teachers? _He tried not to limp too badly as he walked back toward Mr. Simon, but he was sure he failed. The familiar flames began to quickly edge across his leg, and he did his best not to flinch as he got to the teacher, leaving about a metre in between them. He put his right hand in his pocket and tried to look carefree; though it was obvious he was leaning to his right side more.

"Sir? You wanted to see me?" he asked as nicely as he could manage, keeping a safe distance between him and Simon. Ms. Molly was still there, and that was what worried Peter. And the factor that he didn't have his suit, so if Mr. Simon attacked, Molly would be in danger and his identity would be found out. He tried to keep himself calm.

Simon took a few steps closer to him, and Peter couldn't help tensing. He knew Ms. Molly was watching him from the corner of her eye, on the edge of her seat.

Simon stepped closer, and Peter resisted the strong urge to step back.

"You have a... limp, Mr. Parker?" Peter was taken aback, but tried not to let it show. His breath quickened as Simon neared, and a smile grew on his face. The smile wasn't like the ones he showed Peter in class. It was wide, and as his lips parted Peter could see- _fangs. Oh god, my teacher has fangs. _He quickly hid them though, and the smile disappeared. Something flashed in his eyes, something deep, dark and _red. _Peter momentarily remembered Connors telling him about the police officer who questioned him, about _his _eyes flashing red.

There had been a short silence, and he had not realised. He quickly stuttered and rubbed the back of his head, "Just fell down the stairs sir" he excused himself with a shy smile and tried to calm his Spider senses as they began taking over her nerves.

"Is that what happened to your wrist too?" And suddenly Peter wanted to slap himself. His wrist only very lightly ached, so he had forgotten about it. It had been out of the cast since yesterday, but was still slightly bruised. He took a quiet breath-

"Yeah- you know me, just clumsy" He hid his bruised wrist in his other pocket and smiled sheepishly. He almost missed the rather silent whisper- and would've if it hadn't been for his super-human senses,

"No, I don't..." That was what he had heard, but Mr. Simon gave no confirmation he had said anything whatsoever. There was a silence, and Peter saw a look in Simon's eyes. He had become closer than Peter had noticed, and immediately he stepped back.

"Was there something else you wanted Sir? My next class is about to begin." He wanted to leave so bad. He was a little bit weary of leaving Ms. Molly with Simon, but something told him that Simon would refrain from doing anything. He heard a light sigh and Miss Molly dropping a pen, then met the teacher's eyes once more.

That was when he saw it. Felt it. An undeniable pain sprouted in his head- his _mind_- and made him feel like his skull was being cracked open by a sledge hammer with spears attached to it. The agony was overwhelming, and Peter almost crumbled. All he wanted to do was kneel and hold his head in between his hands- but he stayed standing. He couldn't break the stare. He looked into those grey steely eyes and felt every single barricade he had ever built- crumble. He felt his lifeline weaken and his pulse quicken. He didn't just feel physical pain in his head. He felt sorrow, anguish, _and torture_. Like a thousand frozen daggers piercing his skin and dissecting his heart. The suffering was choking him- suffocating him- and for a minute there- everything was dark. Just black. All he could sense was anguish and woe- before...

Somehow he turned his head- his gaze leaving the teacher's. The agony lessoned but he almost fell over, and held onto a nearby desk for support. He gasped and somewhere in the back of his mind heard Miss Molly rushing over to him- patting his shoulder- asking if he was okay. He just nodded blindly- and could feel Simon's dark gaze literally stabbing a hole into his flesh. He quickly excused himself- and ignoring the ache in his leg, rushed out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him.

When he was out- there was no one in the corridors- the bell must've rung already. He'd barely noticed Gwen running to him as he slumped against the wall, and leaned back- still standing with his head in his hands. The pain began to ebb away torturously slowly, and finally a few minutes later- Peter was gasping for breath as if he hadn't taken one in centuries to come. He looked at the closed door beside him remembered. The pain and agony those steely frozen eyes made him feel...

Whatever Simon had done had almost destroyed him- as if slowly ripping his soul out.

Whatever Simon had done wasn't human.

**Aloha Senior. :) SORRY if the last part is a bit confusing, everything will be explained the in the next chapter which I'm going to be working on tonight. XD READ AND REVIEW please, they make my day!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry I didn't update yesterday like I promised but it was because school started again, and my wrist was killing me and I wrote about half the chapter before- BAM! Computer crashes, everything's gone. This one's shorter than the rest, sorry about that, but hopefully the next chapter will make up for it. Reviews are love- and I will be replying to all of those tomorrow after school. Sorry if it's slow and uneventful- I just have to get it out of the way before things get serious.**

Promises Unkept IIIIIII

Connors sat at the desk, his thin, long fingers nimbly working on Peter's bright red and blue suit, pushing the thread in, and pulling it out, creating tiny almost invisible stitches expertly and without much trouble at all. His mind wondered to other more complicated manners as he moved on to what he was sure the last tear- the last one he could see anyway. He sighed as he carefully and dearly plunged the needle back into the elastic fabric and began putting the entire thing together. He thoughts tumbled a hurricane as his memories began flooding back through his mind- reminisces of the pale man with the scar and the red flashing eyes, his miraculous escape, finding the abandoned building, creating a new ID that was sure to last him at least a few weeks.

Then he came to the earlier reminders. Find Peter bleeding- and almost to death at that- at the back of an old, dirty, abandoned alleyway, with Gwen kneeling beside him in his own growing crimson blood pool, yelling his name frantically as his consciousness began to slip, the loss of his lifeline slowing down the beat of his heart. He remembered as Peter silently screamed when he had begun stitching his leg, stopping the blood flow effectively. He remembered Gwen, beside him, bandaging Peter's leg and helping him fix the teenager.

He didn't know how she could even stand him. How she could even stand to be in the _same room_ as him. The guilty, pathetic man whom had brutally and without hesitation or second thoughts, murdered her father. Who ruined and wrecked her entire family. Who without remorse forced her mother in breakdowns of tears and sobs, her brothers into more trouble and stress than they could ever handle. He knew she was grieving because of him, because of what he had done, because of the sins he had committed, despite the fact that she didn't even show it. He knew there was nothing he could do to redeem himself. Nothing he could ever do could even come close to making up for the lives lost, the worlds broken, the lives destroyed.

He had seen her, sometimes- when Peter was still resting- he had seen her just sitting there, watching him. He could see the look in her eyes- but he couldn't place a finger on what it was. He had broken out of jail, and claimed to want to help. He had saved the love of her life's life, but was that really a free-pass for the one life he took that she cherished? Was that really a concession, a get-out-of-jail free card?

He let out a tired sigh. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't get the blood of his hands. _The dark, red, thick, sticky liquid staining his palms_. The blood that was always, _always _there. The blood that never left. He winced as the needle pricked his finger, but he ignored it, still deeply lost in thought.

The scenes began to reform in his mind- buildings destroyed, civilians screaming, police officers herding everyone- trying to get them to safety. It hurt just to think about it- about the screams, the pain, the _agony _he had caused. And it was all there; in that single look she gave him.

It wasn't hate- and he wasn't sure why. She should hate him, _despise _him. Yet all he could spot in those dark sad eyes was confusion. She didn't hate him- and it perplexed her. He knew that the fact she didn't want him dead, gone, for taking her father away from her confused her enough. Now over that she was willing to trust him- for Peter's sake.

The shivers he'd gotten when he'd overheard the unknown man talking to Malice came back. The venom he remembered lacing his voice as he spoke calmly, telling Malice to eradicate Peter like he was some insect. Connor's anger suddenly flared. Peter was like a son to him- there was no way in hell they were going to get to him. Or Gwen. He'd caused enough trouble, made enough problems and sprouted enough chaos for over a lifetime- and he knew there was no way he would be forgiven- but that wasn't why he was doing it. He was doing it because he had promised Richard- and he'd broken that promise too many times to count. He had separated himself from the Parkers, so overridden by anger and bitterness that he took it out on the people that deserved it least. Now Peter had lost not only his parents, but his uncle. The closest thing he had to a father since his father left.

As if that wasn't enough, Curt knew he had died in his arms- and Peter had blamed himself. He would bet anything that he still did. Curt shook his mind of his morbid thoughts, before slowly finishing the last stitch on the final tear- at least he hoped. With a relieved sigh, he pushed the old chair back, and hastily stood up, not bothering to stretch as he did so. He ignored the cramps growing in his arms and carefully pulled up the suit- examining it for any tears or cuts he might have missed.

When he was positive there wasn't a single cut on the unique red and blue fabric, he put it back down and began to calmly pack away the sawing equipment. After everything was neatly arranged in an old box in the bottom drawer of the desk, he didn't have time to be proud of his handwork- because just there and then, he heard the frantic banging of a door and Gwen's voice hurriedly and hastily ringing loudly, yelling for him to open the door.

**Somewhere else, same time**

Simon carefully leaned back on the rough bark of the large tree behind him, basking in the much needed shade, despite the fact it wasn't sunny or bright at all. He didn't know what to think, not even where to start. When he called Peter to stay after class, he had gotten so much more than what he had expected originally. He had looked at him; he had looked at Peter without any boundaries or restrictions for his powers whatsoever. Right in the eyes, he had held his stare. He wanted to say so much to the teenager, but that damned teacher was there, the damn teacher who annoyed him so much. Watching his every step. So paranoid and suspicious of him. He noted only then how much he really wanted her gone. Dead.

He had gazed into those chocolate orbs with such an intensity- a grown man would've-should've- crumbled, in agony, yelling and screaming to be let out of the invisible prison. Peter Parker shouldn't have been standing up, with only a hand on a desk to stabilise him. No, he should've been kneeling on the floor, head in his hands, writhing and screaming in agony. Simon had shown him pain, torture, _death. _He had made him feel every millisecond, every _nanosecond_ of the agony he himself could barely stand. He should have collapsed- he shouldn't have been left standing upright, with barely a slouch of his thin shoulders.

And his leg- he was _limping. _Momentarily, memories of when Malice told his master than he had injured Spider-Man. His leg. He said he should've died, _died_, meaning he was _badly hurt_- bleeding. Simon knew Malice liked to- _loved_ to- exaggerate. He knew he liked to go above and beyond to give himself a good name, a good look and reputation. But could it really have been a coincidence that the only person in more time than Simon could remember- let alone a _teenager_- had overpowered one of his most intense and powerful gazes? The gaze that drove too many men insane to count? The gaze that he knew could make a man scream and scream for hours to end? Could this be the same teenager who had come to school with a heavy _limp_?

A limp received the same time as Spider-Man had gotten his leg nearly ripped off?

He silently wondered about Peter Parker, doing his best not to yell or scream in fury. Was Peter Parker in Well's class, too? Was he the one who killed him? Simon subconsciously sneered- of course Peter Parker wasn't. There was no way in hell Peter had killed the man. Super strength he had. No way. He was overreacting. He was over-damn-reacting and he bloody well knew it. If Spider-Man was _anyone_, then he was over twenty, thirty, maybe even older. He was definitely someone combat training and he obviously was a genius. Peter Parker was _not _Spider-Man, despite the final factor.

What about the girl? Simon silently thought to himself as the rain up above began to pound down again, hail mixing throughout the combination now. But he couldn't bring himself to care at all. What was here name? Gwen Stacy- that was it. She and Parker were awfully close, and from what he'd heard, Spider-Man had been partly responsible for her father's death.

If he was Spider-Man, then there was no reason why she would be around him. Rather, Simon assumed, she would have told the police and had him arrested.

_Unless she didn't know._

There it was- the voice. In his head- again. Whispering thoughts and altering them. Making him believe things that weren't true. No, no he couldn't listen to the voice again. He remembered what happened the last time he'd done that.

_No, you're right. She knows. He's him. He's Spider-Man._

"No..." Simon mumbled. The voice came to him at times- whispering, mumbling, and making itself heard. He'd begun to hear it as a child. He tried to ignore it- but sometimes, it just got to him. It just pushed the buttons. Like it was part of him, knowing what he wanted to do, knowing what he had to do. Stupid, stupid... he whispered. He couldn't listen to the voice. Peter Parker was not Spider-Man. Gwen Stacy did not know because _Peter Parker was not Spider-Man._

_He is. I know it. You know it. Peter Parker is Spider-Man._

He wanted to yell at the voice, to scream. But he knew it was what the voice wanted. To become angry so the voice could plant irrational, fake, _fake_, thoughts in his head. He wasn't going to believe the lies. He stuck to what he'd said earlier to his Sire, Spider-Man was not some awkward scrawny teenager.

Spider-Man's physiche was not the same. Spider-Man's confidence did not match Parker's. Spider-Man showed up whenever trouble did, Parker had school, Parker had work, and Parker was busy. Parker was not Spider-Man.

Parker was not Spider-Man.

_Who are you trying to convince, you or I?_

He wanted to yell at the damn taunting voice. Or better, to just block it out completely and go on with his life. To find the real culprit. To slice Spider-Man to bits and pieces, showing him his _true _power. Showing him death and destruction and pure agony. Not what he had shown Parker- more. Much, much more.

He wasn't convincing himself that Parker wasn't Spider-Man. He wasn't convincing the sleek, dark voice ringing in his head. He wasn't convincing anyone. He didn't need to, because soon, he would have Spider-Man in his clutches, showing him pain like he had never known. Relishing his screams. Because that was his gift. He could make anyone feel anything. Then maybe, after Spider-Man, he would move onto Peter Parker. He had stood up to him; he had not crumbled- yet.

With a sigh, deep enough to relax himself, he lightly pushed off the tree he was leaning on. The winds barked at him as the ice and daggers of rain pelted his pale, frozen skin.

_Peter Parker is Spider-Man._

He did what he had always done best and ignored it. Forcing himself to smile darkly. His eyes flashed crimson for a moment before he hungrily licked his dry, cracking lips. No, he would find the real Spider-Man and give him to his master- because it was his order. He wouldn't disobey another one, not again. He wasn't going to waste his master's precious time with stupid, pointless, conflicted theories the voice in his head had come up with. Stupid and pointless and conflicted, that was what they were. That was _all _they were.

Because Peter Parker was not Spider-Man.

_Peter Parker is Spider-Man._

**With Gwen, Peter and Connors**

When Connors opened the door hurriedly, he was greeted with a certainly very unexpected scene. Gwen stood there, concern laced deep within her orbs, with one of Peter's arms slung over her shoulder. He looked dazed, and his eyes reflected pain and agony of the worst kind- but after a quick glance at him, Curt could tell it was nothing physical. Thankfully.

He made them way and closed then closed the door behind them as Gwen carefully helped Peter to the couch. He slumped immediately lying down and shutting his eyes in torture. He was breathing heavily in short gasps and his hands immediately flew to his head, clutching it desperately, as if to get rid of the invisible source of suffering.

Gwen knelt by his side, and Connors immediately rushed to the kitchen, pouring an entire glass of water. He hurried back, carefully juggling the water- not spilling anything as he handed it to Peter, who slowly sat up and took it with hands so shaky Connors feared it would fall and shattered. But as his fingers laced themselves and grasped the cool clear glass tightly, he sat up further and drank, draining about half the water in a single gulp.

Curt forgot about everything he was reminiscing over when he saw the haunted look in Peter's eyes. The teenager looked around and sighed heavily, as if he just realised his surroundings. Curt sat on an old creaky dark wooden chair nearby and Gwen took the end of the aged couch, as Peter pulled his knees up.

Connors looked at them quizzically, the unspoken question hanging thick in the already stale and dusty air. "What happened?" he said suddenly, and Peter snapped out of what seemed to be a trance. Curt sat of the edge of his seat as Peter drank the rest of the water, glass still clutched tightly in between his fingers. The older man sent a questioning look to Gwen, silently asking if she knew anything. She just took a deep breath and shook her head- watching her boyfriend intently.

"I..." Peter's words were so soft that they were practically whispers. Still holding strongly onto the glass, he cleared his throat and began again. "The new teacher, Mr. Simon. He made me stay back after class, and..." his voice shook but his eyes were hard with determination. "He... he wasn't human..." Connors was taken aback and apparently, so was Gwen. Had Peter not told her any of this either? Connors edged further into his seat and paid further attention. "Doc, I just- I looked into his eyes and there was so much _pain_..." he trailed off and both Curt and Gwen finally understood.

Simon was one of _them._

"It was unreal. I felt like everything was dying, like there was nothing but _death._ There was just so much agony..." The glass practically cracked in his grip. When Peter noticed the small dent in the cup, he lightened his grip and expertly balanced the cup on his knee.

"He had powers" Gwen stated as her boyfriend met her eyes. She saw the anguish, the terror. Even just by looking into those dark orbs she felt shaken. She knew it was only an echo of what the love of her life, her _everything_, had felt less than ten minutes ago. She saw him in the corridor, shaken and in pain- she called his name. Then he looked at her and she saw the deep, dark, morbid look in his eyes. The look that screamed he was just so broken_._ They had called a taxi and rushed to the closest safe-haven, Doctor Connors temporary home.

"They were unlike anything I had ever seen, anything I had ever _felt. _I could almost hear the screams, loud and so, _so _clear..." he trailed off, his voice breaking slightly. His gaze turned to the floor, and Gwen knew why. He knew if she met his eyes she'd feel what he felt. What he was _still_ feeling.

"How is that possible?" Curt muttered. And Peter accidently met his gaze. Connors flinched and looked away immediately. The pain- the _pain_- it was like his own emotions. Like a hot poker was being driven into his skull. He stuttered. _He knew what this meant_. "Did he know?" He asked lightly, and Peter almost missed it. He would've if it hadn't been for his supernatural senses.

"No... I-I don't think so. He- he just asked about my limp. Ms. Molly was there too..." he took a deep breath and forced his grip to loosen around the cup as it began to strengthen again. "He just- met my eyes another time- then it was just _there. _I don't know what it was, what it _is._ I felt like..." he didn't say anymore, just diverted his gaze again. The pain was still there, loud and clear and doubtfully leaving for a while.

"Stay here and rest." Peter was about to protest, that much was obvious by the bright look in his eyes- despite the pain. "For a few hours at least." Connors finished nodding to both of them, "You too Gwen. You both look like you need it." And with that he left the room, heading to some unknown destination in some other part of the building, leaving both teenagers alone.

Connors sighed irritably as he left the room, not glancing back. This shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't know. There was no way they could have found out. Not logical way they could've known. Had they seen Peter? Had they seen Gwen? Perhaps followed the pair of them, then discovered that were more than expected. But _why_? Why would anyone be suspicious of them to begin with? Connors didn't know, and that was what frightened him. If they were willing to go this far, who knew how much power they had. A man with super-strength, a man who could appear and disappear through solid ground, and now a man who could make you feel the worst pain it was unimaginable.

How far would they go to destroy not only Spider-Man, but Peter Parker?

**I know it's not that good, but reviews make me REALLY happy 3 what'd you think? Thanks for reading. Sorry for the late update. Sorry if the chapter's slow...**


	8. Chapter 8

**(I didn't have time to edit this chapter, sorry) HIT THE BIG EIGHT- OH, THANK YOU! Hello! I AM SO SORRY for the late updates! I've been so damn busy with everything, I only finished this now. So- I watched The Dark Knight Rises just a day after its release, and Just like the Amazing Spider-Man had been, it was so painfully AMAZING. I loved it. And I think near the end of this fic- AND I WILL DEFINITLY FINISH IT- I may start a Batman Fanfic. Thoughts? Enjoy this next chapter, and expect the next one soon. **

Simon stood stoically, his posture straight and plain, his feet pressed together and his face as expressionless as ever, not paying particular attention to anything but the man before him, no matter how plush and antique the entire area was. His master sat behind his large oak desk on an antique chair, gazing up at the younger man with a certain look in his eyes. Just as usual, both men faced each other with not feelings what so ever plastered on their features. His master licked his lips; his gleaming, scarlet flashing orbs boring holes into Simon's very soul.

The superior clear his throat and careful traced the long scar that ran down his eye. He gazed at Simon expectantly, who just sigh almost inaudibly. "Tell me good news, Simon" The man's cruel, silky voice sent shivers down Simon's spine every time, though he did not show it.

_Tell him everything._

The voice was there again. Usually it didn't hang around as long, etching itself and making itself heard loudly despite how much Simon had tried to push it t back to the back of his head. He grit his teeth silently and did his very best to appear normal, having perfected his facade a long time ago.

"I investigated Peter Parker as you requested." He paused before inwardly grimacing. He would get the boy soon and he would be sorry, oh so very sorry, that he had stood up to the opposing man. His master just looked at him as if expecting him to continue. He didn't say anything for a while, before finally breaking the loudest, most deafening silence Simon had sworn he had ever heard. "I... opened my gaze." He concluded stiffly.

His sire just tilted his head slightly, his expression just near about bored. He licked his lips again- and Simon noted it must have become a new habit. "And how did Mr. Parker react?" He asked him slowly, his eyes gleaming again. Simon was so damn sourly tempted to turn his gaze and avoid the cold, calculating eyes all together.

"He... He kept his place, Sire." He finished, his eyes meeting the other older man's with a strange look. For a few minutes, the opposing man looked simply perplexed. It was another few long, torturously long, minutes before the odd, confusing gaze in his eyes transformed. It had become one of- fascination? Simon's eyes almost widened. Almost. He would not allow himself that mistake- he would not show emotions.

_Everything._

The voice mumbled quietly, yet it echoed so loudly in his head, and Simon almost yelled out loud- so strained to just bang his head against the wall and get rid of the strange, intimidating voice. _Everything? _There was no point in 'everything'. No point in anything other than the fact that the boy had been lucky, and had not crumpled from pain and stress and pure, raw _insanity._

He was snapped out of his thoughts immediately and in an instant as the superior figure muttered something Simon could almost not make out at all, "Interesting..." he trailed off, leading Simon to almost curse so painfully out loud. There was _nothing_ interesting about Peter Parker. Peter Parker was a measly high school boy. Not who they were searching for, not Spider-Man. Peter Parker- he had to be taken care of, ignoring the fact that the boy had done nothing. If he was on his master's mind, then he was more important than anyone else in the entire planet. Including Spider-Man.

"Was there anything else?" His master asked again, and the voice rang again throughout his head, bouncing off from side to side and slowly forcing a powerful pounding in his head. Simon masked his emotions. There was, in his opinion, no damn reason to tell and worry the other man over nothing. Absolutely no point whatsoever to tell him about the limp, or the broken wrist, or any of that. No, none at all.

_Tell him..._

"No, my Lord. Nothing at all." The snake-like voice nagged him from the back of his head. He swallowed carefully before forcing a smile.

_Everything._

His master sighed loudly and exaggeratingly. Simon just watched as the other figure left his gaze and began to stare at an empty spot on his smooth dark desk. The silence was the loudest Simon had ever experienced. His master was thinking- that he knew. And he definitely knew it was better than to interrupt him or snap him out of his seemingly very significant train of thought. It was about five minutes of the tensed- at least for Simon- silence, before the other man actually said something.

"Get a reaction out of the boy." The man smiled, and Simon inwardly shivered. Suddenly Spider-Man was forgotten, and the spotlight was on Peter Parker. Simon would have felt sorry for the boy if he didn't hate him so much. Maybe, just maybe he could've been pitiful...

Simon merrily nodded, before going back to his own train of thought, blocking out everything. He ignored the slithery tone of voice as it crawled back into the depths of his highly and extremely complex mind, where he knew it would rest and leave him be for at least a short while. It was time something happened. Despite Simon's confusion with his master's 'obsession' with Peter Parker, he knew he was going to enjoy 'getting a reaction out of him.' Suddenly Peter Parker seemed so much more important than Spider-Man.

Simon inwardly sighed, raking his brain as he realised his master was watching him. He couldn't bring to meet the other man's eyes as they surveyed him questioningly. No, he was much too lost in thoughts of destruction and dismay to bother with even that single master he served. He was going to turn Peter's Parker into rubble. If it was a reaction his master wanted, then it was reaction he was going to get. Before Spider-Man was Peter Parker.

And what better way to destroy someone, then to destroy them not only physically, but mentally?

**With Gwen and Peter**

Gwen watched her boyfriend with a light smile as he unlocked the door to his house, pushing it open for her. She gazed around before she entered, taking in all the constellations resting throughout the dark night sky. Her eyes landed on a particularly bright one, and her smile grew slightly as it gleamed. She light out a light breath and met eyes with Peter, who grinned slightly.

Night had fallen, and not long ago they had taken a cab from near the abandoned building where Connors was. Gwen promised and accepted the invite to dinner she had gotten earlier from Aunt May, and thus was why she was here, standing on the porch of Peter's house, smelling the faintest traced of something delicious. Without further hesitation, she walked through the wooden door, and heard Peter close it behind him lightly.

"Aunt May!" he called out, dropped his keys by a small coffee table. Gwen fidgeted nervously. She had never met Aunt May personally, and figured it would be like meeting Peter's mum. She licked her lips as Peter smiled at her encouragingly, making her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He had told her, multiple, countless times that his Aunt would simple love her, but she had felt butterflies swarming in her insides nonetheless. She breathed deeply when she and Peter walked closer to the kitchen.

The wonderful smell of fresh roast became intoxicating now. Gwen sighed dreamily and blushed when Peter chuckled at her slightly, before kissing her cheek. Once they were actually inside, Gwen saw a woman with greying hair and a kind face _just _finishing with the setting up of the table. She fidgeted nervously with her hands. The woman turned to her, before smiling.

She extended her hand with a light flash in her eyes, "May Parker, it's wonderful to finally meet you. Peter's told me all about you" Gwen blushed and offered May a wide gracious smile. She took her hand and shook it gently with her own for a second before saying,

"It's really great to meet you too, Mrs. Parker" she replied before May ushered both her and Peter to set the table. When Gwen paid more attention to the food, just the look of it made her stomach grumble hungrily. A delicious looking and smelling pot roast rested on the table, bronze and slicked with a bright sauce whilst surrounded by various cooked vegetables.

"May, Please" Mrs. Parker told her kindly as Peter walked behind her and took out the chair for both women. They both smiled at him as he took his seat beside Gwen. May had a certain glint to her smile, something that warned both teenagers she was going to get down to business.

"Mrs- May, this smells _amazing_" Gwen emphasised as she was passed a gleaming white plate. Next to her, Peter licked his lips slightly making his Aunt chuckle. Gwen cracked a smile as Peter blushed and took his own plate, passing the cutlery from the centre of the table to both his Aunt and his Girlfriend.

"You've outdone yourself again, Aunt May" Peter mumbled as he filled his plate with some of the juicy, bronze roast. Gwen did the same, just as politely, before she was followed by Aunt May herself. She grinned lightly at them, watching as they dug into the tasty feast.

"I'm glad you enjoy it." She said simply. It was a few moments as all three of them ate the gourmet food hungrily yet still politely. All that was heard in those precious moments was the carefully clanking of forks against plates, just before conversation began to spark.

"So Gwen, tell me a little about yourself" Aunt May said, keeping her tone of voice light and conversational, the same tone she used that Peter recognised- when she had something up her sleeve, or had figured something out.

Gwen looked up from her almost empty plate of food and smiled softly. "Well there really isn't anything much to tell..." she muttered blushing slightly. Next to her Peter's lips broke into a smirk.

"She's just being modest. Gwen's one of the highest ranking students at our school, she's also in the debating team." He spoke playfully, nudging his girlfriend lightly. He took another bite of the delicious roast that was almost finished, despite the size it had been before they had began eating.

"That's wonderful. I'm glad that Peter's found someone like you Gwen..." Aunt May whispered softly, and this time it wasn't just Gwen who blushed. Crimson began collecting at Peter's cheeks slowly but heatedly as he took another hurried bite and lowered his head, attempting to hide his obvious blush.

Gwen stuttered for a moment. They had never told May that she and Peter had been dating or going out. In fact, they were both so sure that neither had ever mentioned anything close to those exact words when they were nearby. "I- thankyou. Actually, I think I'm the lucky one..." Gwen said softly surprising herself with the strength of her light voice. She turned slightly and met eyes with Peter, whose own orbs were considerably wider.

What Gwen saw in his deep, considerate chocolate eyes was all that they had ever been through. The general wideness and shock that were permitted by her words had long vanished, and as they kept the intense yet gentle stare, the strange and certain- _very certain_- essence of love and care had been sent twirling in the air, making it denser and harder to breathe for the pair of them. They had been through so much, yet all of it had been spoken- no, _summarised- _in a short span of a few well-chosen words that just seemed to clarify everything. There were no secrets, no lies, and no hidden truths. There was nothing that stood in between them. Nothing that could even possibly tear them apart, not anymore. Not a chance of a broken promise, not a sense of misunderstanding- no, just a simple, yet so, _so _complex emotion and feeling of longing. Just long, hard longing.

Gwen could barely comprehend her thoughts as she kept her stare locked within the comforting one that was Peter's. Even if she wanted to speak, to say something, at this very moment, she couldn't. Not wouldn't, or shouldn't, just plain, not so simple- _couldn't. _Her lips couldn't move, just as her mind could not communicate enough with her vocal cords to force them to even stutter a single syllable. And just like that, the world began to fade slightly. She could still taste the tangy and spicy flavour of the rich roast on her taste buds, she could still feel the warm fabric of her jacket over the Goosebumps that had begun to crawl up her arm, she could still hear the swinging and swaying of the trees outside as the winds picked up and rushed forth, just as well as she could still smell the leftover scent of the delicious food they had eaten. But all she could see was him. Or rather, his dark, comforting, defining gaze. His love and his joy as he poured just _that much more _into it...

Across from them, May chuckled, and they snapped out of their reverie. Peter immediately turned his glance and so did Gwen. They were both going scarlet. May just chuckled slightly louder, as if she wasn't able to hold herself back. The bright, loud, glint in her currently playful orbs was back, and more evident than ever. Peter sent her a questioning glance just as Gwen did, silently wondering if every single thing they had shared was so obvious.

"I know love when I see it, and I haven't seen that much love in a _long _time" She said quietly, the tone of her eccentric voice now playful again- just as it had ever been. Before either of them could mutter a single word, she had stood up and taken her plate, as well as the main one in the centre that the roast had formerly resided in. Quickly, she hurried to the sink with her back to both of them.

Peter and Gwen sat shell shocked for a short while. The words of Peter's Aunt rang through their minds in a seemingly unending fashion, the quote-the simple light-hearted phrase repeating itself in a seemingly never ending fashion. _"I know love when I see it, and I haven't seen that much love in a long time" _Those were her exact, none complex words. Yet they were the words that forced both Gwen and Peter- no matter how truly in love they were- to face opposite directions and offer each other gentle knowing smirks.

"Would you youngsters mind helping me with the dishes?" Aunt May called from where she was in the kitchen, standing right before the silver stainless steel sink with the tap running only moderately. She had taken to scrubbing all the utensils used in creating the roast. Peter got up and took both his and Gwen's plates over to his Aunt whilst Gwen herself began clearing and cleaning the table.

About twenty or so minutes later, they had finished clearing out and completely cleaning everything, making every single area absolutely spotless. Once everything was positively done, Aunt May sighed before smiling again and turning to the pair.

"Thank you both, and Gwen, it's been lovely having you for dinner, your welcomed here anytime" She told the younger woman kindly with another softly placed smile.

Gwen returned it, "Thank you for dinner, it was delicious, and it was wonderful meeting you." After a few kind words between either woman and Peter standing by the side, biting his lip softly and being just so very thankful that everything was alright and that what he had initially thought was correct- Aunt May absolutely loved Gwen. Not that he'd actually doubted his thoughts to begin with, but the confirmation was even- ever- so much more than he hoped for.

Soon after, Aunt May excused herself with a polite goodnight, seeing how late it was beginning to get. Before she left, however, she told them, and as is quoted, 'not to stay up too late...' making them both blush crimson furiously. Once she was gone, Gwen was ready to leave, seeing as it was just past nine. She was at the door with Peter- whom had a cheesy smile plastered on his face.

She met his eyes again, though not intensely at all. Just light-heartedly, playfully.

Gwen's lips parted to say something, but she was interrupted with soft mesmerising lips crushing gently against her own. She moaned lightly and involuntarily- automatically beginning to kiss back. They kissed softly- not fighting for dominance or anything, just a simple, light, calm kiss. Peter's hand caressed her cheeks as Gwen pulled him closer with her hands bound tightly around his neck.

"Peter..." she muttered softly as they finished their kiss, and he pulled her close in, in a comfortable loving hug. She sighed contently, before lightly moving backwards. "I have to get home, Mum and the boys will be back tomorrow, and I should get home early to fix up everything." She offered him a quiet smile, before reaching for the doorknob and turning it, pushing the door open.

"I'll walk you home- it's dark" he offered no room for argument, and held out his palm. She accepted it gratefully and they walked out the door, Peter grabbing the keys before actually locking it. True to Peter's word, the night was so dark that they could barely see each other through the dimness. The only light was the natural infested one radiating from the full moon above.

They didn't speak as they walked to Gwen's house, a few streets away. The wind picked up before hurriedly- strangely- decreasing. Peter didn't pay attention to that, but rather the odd sensation at the back of his neck that he only recognised so well. The familiar tingling had begun to get on his nerves- coming on at the worst possible times. He clutched Gwen's hand tighter, but still gently, glancing around to see if he could make out anything out of the ordinary. He spotted nothing, despite the fact that he wasn't actually expecting to.

When they reached Gwen's place, he waited by her as she unlocked the door, and told her to make sure every single window latch and door lock was tightly secured, and not to open the door to _anyone_. She looked at him with concern, glancing around the darkness as if she had sensed something was wrong- but nodded, gave him a soft good-bye kiss, and retreated into the safe harbour of her home- efficiently locking the door behind her.

Peter began walking down the streets after saying goodbye to Gwen, still unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched- or followed. A street light above him flickered a few times before shutting off completely, making him curse silently in surprise. He could barely see anything now, but his other senses were still extremely sharp. Quickening his pace- he couldn't help but here a ruffle, not of them wind, but of leaves. As if they were being swayed or ruffled, despite the fact that there was no wind now. He pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose and dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket.

Keeping his head low, he noticed- thankfully- that he was only a few blocks from his house. It wasn't that he was actually afraid of the sensation he had gotten, but rather afraid of the fact that if an assailant _did _in fact show up, that he didn't have his suit on or anything. Despite the dark, his face could still be seen.

That was when he heard it. His senses bombarded him so hard within that very second that he could almost feel himself going lightheaded. He lifted his head up quickly, his hands flying out of his pockets as he froze on the spot, hurriedly searching everywhere for what had his Spidey-senses flying at three hundred miles an hour. When he paid close attention- he could make out, what was it, _words_? Yes words. People were talking, on the other side of the road.

Quickly forgetting his destination towards home, he quickly changed his route and turned, efficiently rushing across the road, though being extremely silent about it. The voices became louder as he got to the other side. He wasn't sure where they came from, or what he was actually looking for, or why he had followed the voices to begin with. But he did, and as he got to the other side, he noticed a small gap- an alleyway he never really took notice off.

The gap was between a house, and large abandoned brick office building. He pressed himself against the brick wall and listened intently- before hearing-

"What'd you have on him?" The tone of that certain that particular, voice belonged to a male. It was rough, hoarse, and _strangely familiar. _Where had he heard that voice before? He raked his mind before he heard another voice that made his eyes widen,

"Nothing yet, but I can guarantee _everything _soon. You'll have him" It was Casey's voice. The same Casey- Case- whom he had an abrupt study session with- whom kept shooting him strange glances... The only question was who on earth were they talking about? He strained his ears and pressed his back further into the bricks.

"You better have that information" and suddenly, Peter recognised that voice. What was his name? Mike? Matt? Right now Peter didn't care, because he recognised him as the policeman who'd pointed a gun at him and had not recognised the bomb, who'd spoken on the television yelling furiously that Spider-Man would be hunted down.

"I _will_" Casey pressed, frustratingly. "I want him down more than you do!" She yelled viciously, and again Peter wondered who they were talking about. "Spider-Man will _die_"

And suddenly Peter's breath hitched, and he stumbled, accidently moving and pressing down on something sharp, causing him to yelp in pain. He would've cursed right there and then if he wasn't more worried about being found out.

"Whose there!" The rough voice yelled, and Peter ran across the street as fast as he could.

Once he was across the road, and he was sure that neither the cop nor Casey could see him, he slowed down, and paused for a moment, thinking things over. Why was Casey with that Policeman? Why did she want Spider-Man _dead_? Why would the policemen trust a teenager who didn't have a clue who Spider-Man actually was? Why would he be asking her on him if she didn't know? Then Peter's eyes widened at a sudden realisation. What if she _did_ know? What if that was why she was shooting him those stares and had acted like she did at the study session at the library on Saturday?

Everything became so painfully clear so suddenly. If Casey suspected him, then she might have told the authorities. If she knew she could spread her knowledge and bring him down within an instant. But how could she have known? How could she have possibly found out? Then again how could Wells have known? What if they had been working together?

Peter's stomach churned agonisingly at the possibility of that many people knowing. This was certainly _not _good news, not at all. All the love and happiness he had felt at dinner with his Aunt and Gwen had long since disappeared, leaving him with an impossible dread to wash over him.

He hurried to his house, about three blocks away when something just sparked- his senses went off- harsher and harder than before- begging him to stop, to _notice, _but as he was so lost in thought he missed it- making him regret it immediately, because just then he bumped into someone. A solid figure. As he looked up,

"Hello Peter." the two calmly spoken words burned a shiver down his spine. And slowly as he lifted his chin and looked up, nothing could have prepared him for the flash of bright, cruel, unnatural gleaming red that sparked in the eyes that connected with his.

It was only then that he had felt true, painful fear...

Fear that was not for his identity.


	9. Chapter 9

**I WANT TO CRY. (100 REVIEWS I AM CRYING RIGHT NOW, I LOVE YOU GUYS) I AM SO SORRY! I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO APOLOGISE. I have just been so damn busy with cramming for exams and doing assignments and stupid idiotic family problems and- I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry it has taken me two week to update. It isn't fair of me, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me? This chapter is mostly in the point of view of Gwen, and doesn't have much action- sorry! Geeze I'm apologising plenty today. The next one will explain everything and will be up by this weekend! **

**This is unedited because I'm dying and don't have to time to do much of anything right now, Oh and thanks to a reviewer- I'm now using the word: Irises (yay) You know who you are:) :**

As Gwen locked the door to her house, she remembered the sudden chills she had gotten when Peter had walked her home.

Leaning back on the door with a light slightly confused sigh, she reminisced over the strange feeling she had suddenly gotten as the skies had continuously darkened into an impossible pitch-black. The stars had been out, as well as the moon. Both beautiful elements of nature had emerged through the darkening gray clouds and shed light upon them as they walk, though even they didn't help much. The lights had flickered, she thought, and it was then she had suddenly felt like someone was watching her.

As the street lights kept flashing and Peter's hand tightened around hers, she figured he had felt it too. The way his eyes had scanned the night air where seemingly nothing hid, how his shoulder's had been tense the entire way, how he kept softly biting his bottom lip.

Then she was reminded of that look he had given her just before she had closed the door. It was deep in his dark brown irises- it was worry, curiosity and with a sharp hint of puzzlement, as if he had just gotten the chills where no wind had blown.

That was how she felt. It was like a demanding, commanding, cold and immensely calculating gaze had pierced into her soul- she knew it sounded silly, but she couldn't help but shake the feeling of something created of pure, untainted evil.

Yes, evil. Like the evil that lurked around dark corridors in damp, haunted buildings in the middle of nowhere. Like the evil that crept through shadows in abandoned, graphitized schools and office-buildings. Like the evil that hid under children's beds in the middle of the night with the most eerie, creepy smile, eyes crimson, scarlet and wide, with a large butcher knife in one hand, listening to their victim's soft breathing as they dreamt, head on pillow and fingers curled slightly. Yes, what she had felt was nothing but the purest of evil.

She didn't know why or how she had even done so. She didn't have any super-senses or any super-natural true instincts like Peter. It was like, she figured, what Peter had felt before. The death and tragedy and pure, refined _agony _from a single gaze. A gaze from an unknown seemingly normal assailant. Momentarily she wondered if it had been Mr. Simon watching Peter and her as they walked through the quiet streets in the empty yet strangely odd night.

She bit her lips unconsciously and rethought that sentiment. What if it _had_ been Mr. Simon? He had crumbled her boyfriends barriers and boundaries mentally, so intensely that for a second, when Peter had escaped the classroom and ran into the corridors where she awaited him, he looked... _lost_. Lost and just so broken, like his life had flashed before his eyes in the most truly painful manner. She flinched at the thought that either of them may be in such a danger, but those thoughts were quickly replaced by a simple yet defining emotion: panic.

Oh god, she thought silently to herself, what if that really _had _been Simon? What if Peter really _was _in danger? What if Simon was waiting for him to be alone so not to cause a fuss? Peter was still hurt, and scarred- both mentally and physically. He wasn't wearing his suit. He didn't have protection. The streets and roads where dark, murky, abandoned and empty at this time of the night. There was no one to see and witness or stop what could happen- not that they really had a chance against him.

As the feeling began to rise, Gwen forced herself to keep calm. She noticed she hadn't even turned on the lights yet. Quickly and hurriedly, she pushed herself off the dark wooden door and slapped her hand to the left of the wall, flicking on the bright white lights and momentarily wincing at their sheer vividness.

She rushed to the other side of the room through the corridor and instantly picked up her landline home-phone. Without a second's thought of hesitancy or before she could change her mind anything, her fingers had gotten a mind of their own and quickly pressed the digits that would immediately dial to Peter's phone.

It took a moment before-

_Ring._

_Pick up, Peter, please pick up. _She licked her lips before biting her bottom lip, harder than last time. Taking a deep, electrifying breath she gripped the phone tighter in her laced fingers, so sure she would accidently crush it if she held on any tighter. Another ring. Another two, perhaps three rings.

Four, maybe five empty crushing rings had passed, and with each beep her heart began to thump even louder through her chest. She almost cursed as it rang again. What if Simon had already gotten to him? What if he hurt? Injured or wounded badly? Or worse...

No, no she would not think like that. Peter would be fine, he had to be. He would be okay. He probably just couldn't hear his phone. It wasn't the first time he hadn't felt his phone vibrate in his pocket or hear it through the thick fabric of his jean pockets and such. But it was in the middle of the night, it the silence was practically deafening, how could he not hear it? With a silence as quiet as the one that currently took place outside her home, it was possible to hear a pin drop across the road. So... so maybe he had left it at home. Aunt May was asleep, and the house was big. It definitely wasn't the first time he had forgotten it.

But suddenly- there it was- his voice! Her heart leapt before-

"_-is Peter, sorry but I'm not available at the moment-"_

She swallowed her heart and closed the call. Yes, yes he had just forgotten it. Nothing had happened it him. Peter was absolutely fine, there was nothing wrong. No, definitely nothing wrong. Peter should be home in a few minutes. He would be home in a few minutes, and in a few hours, meaning tomorrow- in the morning, he would be there at the front of her house, knocking on her door and ringing her doorbell, furiously apologising with that cute, adorable, corny smirk of his about the missed phone call.

Yes, because every single thing would be tremendously and absolutely fine in the morning, the sun would rise again in the clouds and the moon and the stars would disappear into the atmosphere- proving another fresh new day. The sky might not be the brightest of blue, but she was sure the grey darkness would have a certain tint to it. It had too be.

And so with that uncertain thought and another glance at both the phone and the door, Gwen walked up the stairs and to her room, before collapsing on her bed and falling into a disturbed worry-induced sleep, not even bothering to change because of the sudden mental exhaustion that just seemed to hack into her mind.

Because when she would wake up tomorrow, it would be by a doorbell or a knock to the love of her life with a cheesy smile and a kiss.

When Gwen woke up the next day, it was not by a doorbell or a knock to the love of her life with a cheesy smile and a kiss.

Rather, it had been to loud, raging thunder from outside. Rain fell like icy daggers and pelted against her window, whilst harsh winds- harsher than yesterday's- howled loudly forced whatever was within their clutches to sway. Gwen sat up quickly and forced her eyes open. The ends of her palms found themselves at her eyes, digging the exhaustion away from her sockets. She groaned lightly- damn it, she was sure she had gotten at least seven hours of sleep, but for an unknown reason, she felt as if she had gotten none.

She shivered against her black at turned her head lazily to the clock beside her, which read eight-fifteen. Today wasn't a school day, she thought thankfully to herself, so she wasn't late for anything. She was suddenly flooded with worrisome thoughts from the night before-her panic for Peter, the strange feeling of eyes watching them as they treaded through the night, calling her boyfriend but receiving no answer- just a monotone yet light-hearted message that told her she had reached his voicemail, and that he was currently unavailable.

She tried to forget the extreme worry that had embedded its talon's into her soul, piercing her thoughts effectively. Her attempts were futile however, because she just couldn't force the events of the previous night out of her mind's eye. She had been ready to storm outside and see what had happened, where Peter was, why he hadn't answered her calls.

She had the same thoughts as yesterday, but couldn't help but go over them. What if he was hurt? But it was only eight in the morning. Peter had been exhausted; it wouldn't be too unusual if he didn't answer his phone. Why was this making her worry to such an extent that she couldn't even force herself to lie back down on the warm blue sheets and pillow of her bed? She was probably over-reacting. She definitely. Maybe. So what if she w_as _overreacting, could she really be blamed? With the intensity of everything that had been going on lately, and Connors-

_Connors._

She wasn't too sure how she had really felt about the man. It was true, he really had saved Peter not too long ago and showed only the best for him in mind, but what if all of that was an act? The man had killed- slaughtered- her father, for Christ's sake. She had the right to be suspicious, and angry. Yes, oh yes, she was angry. When she had first spotted him in the alleyway, her first reaction had been to grab whatever was nearest and hit him with it. And really, she would've, if it weren't for Peter who had been bleeding almost to death in her arms. He was currently fixing her boyfriend's suit, what if he was rigging it? Suddenly, she mentally slapped herself. Of course he wasn't. She sighed dejectedly and sunk slightly into her mattress. Connors was helping them. He had become a huge lizard and almost destroyed the entire city of New York because he was just... _misguided. _His intentions weren't clear, even to himself. She knew that much, but that didn't change the fact that he had remorselessly murdered her father- the one man she truly looked up to, her hero. When she thought about it more, she couldn't stop the immediate feeling of _hate _growing at the pit of her stomach. Yes Connors had helped, but he had also put them all in danger to begin with- when he'd attempted to infect everybody this forcing Peter to save the day- _again. _It really wasn't fair. No matter how intense yet uncertain her feelings were toward the man, he had still saved Peter. There was no way- she hoped- he was evil. It wasn't him they had to worry about, despite the fact that he couldn't really be called 'the good doctor' anymore, there was no way in hell he was in the same league as Simon.

Oh, Simon.

The red eyed teacher whom was not human, and had the ability to inflict the most immense and intense mental pain on an individual- probably enough to drive them insane- or worse.

She would bet anything he had something to do with Wells and the strange man who according to Peter- could dissolve into any solid surface. A league, they were. A league of people who weren't your average, ordinary human beings who had jobs such as accountants or bankers of real estate agents. Though something told her they weren't finished. Well, maybe Wells was, and maybe the man whom had battled Peter in the alley and was intent on luring him in through the immediate death and destruction of others, but not Simon. She knew they weren't finished, and that they would go after him, but what she really feared was the simple fact that Wells and Simon had both attacked Peter, whilst the disappearing man attacked Spider-Man. Wells was dead, and the other man didn't know that Spider-Man was Peter, but what about Simon?

Did he know? Did he make the connection? And Casey- she had a rotting feeling about the other girl, whom at first had seemed kind, then suddenly oh so treacherous, with the evil side glances and the murderous glares, as if she _knew._ And the policeman. The one who had been on television stating- and _angrily_ she might add- that the entire police force was out for Spider-Man's blood.

Life really wasn't easy.

Though the more she thought about all the threats and the possible dangerous knowledge they held, the more her ideas of Peter being in danger grew ever more salient in her head. Without wasting another second, she shot out her hand and grabbed the covers of her bed, before yanking the sheets off. She quickly and hurriedly stood, not caring at all that she was still in yesterday's clothes, and rushed to her desk, where her mobile phone lay.

Quickly pressing one on her speed dial, she pressed the cool metal and glass screen against her pale cheek and bit the nail of her thumb- a bad habit she'd picked up when she became so very nervous yet quite so determined. She was calling Peter, and if didn't pick up she was definitely going to go to his house and demand answers for why he hadn't answered her calls. For why he had to worry her to death all the damn time.

She could've cursed right there and then as the ringing stopped and his soothing voice rang through the speakers of her phone and into her ear. She was half tempted to just keep the phone at her ear and listen to the sound of his voice- even if just for a bit- for some self comfort. Just to hear him speak...

But she didn't. She couldn't dwell on things like that. Instead, she shoved her phone into the pocket of her black jeans and fixed her vest for a moment, before literally jogging out the door of her room, through the corridors of her house, and into the lounge room, where she forced herself to calm down and quickly put on her sneakers. Unable to wait any longer, she opened the door and took the house keys, before locking it behind her. The rain had lightened considerably- and despite the fact that she was thankful, she couldn't find it in herself to care much.

Pushing her set of keys into her pocket with her phone, she sprinted down the steps of her porch and onto the darkening street- despite the morning light of the almost hidden sun behind the grey fluffy clouds. She didn't think about anything other than Peter as she began to jog down the street- she just couldn't. Her golden blonde hair whipped messily around her as she found herself suddenly thankful for the fact that both the rain and the earliness of the day were factors toward the fact that no one was around.

As she continued to rush down the wet path she noticed something in front of her- but didn't really take notice of it until it stuck to her shoe and made her sigh in irritation forcing her to stop.

It was a ripped piece of white paper. As she peeled it of her shoe with the tips of her nails, she turned it over to the side with writing on it. The paper itself was almost drenched and thus made the inky script in blue pen almost impossible to read. But with her keen eyes and fresh curiosity- she managed to make out the few lines that were written-

_Midtown Science High school_

_Class 12Y Maths, Block 3E_

_Surveillance Camera 2A_

_J.W Death Date._

Gwen's eyes widened considerably as she read the words, and then re-read them again and again. Midtown Science High School, Class 12Y Maths, Block 3E. That wasn't just Peter and her school, but also Peter's maths class. What did it mean 'surveillance camera'? What the hell was going on? But it was the last few words that really caught her attention. J.W Death Date. The death date of Wells. What the hell did this mean? Her breath hitched as rain began to pelt harder against her skin.

What if they had caught Peter on tape leaving the classroom?

The possibility was so wild yet it _was _a possibility. A very damning, hellish possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. Could they prove anything? What if they could? What if they could prove that Peter had been the last person to see Wells alive and well? What then? Then they could easily say he hadn't been at the evacuation, hadn't attended the rest of his classes, and had come to school with strange and suspicious injuries...

The aspect was so horrifying. Gwen quickly pocketed the note in the same pocket as her phone and keys, before running- much, _much _faster than before toward Peter's house. Her thoughts flew around her head like a raging storm- worst than the physical one with rain and hail and wind swarming all around her angrily. She forced herself to concentrate at the task ahead of her and not slip of the slippery surfaces of the road, not really caring about anything anymore. The possibilities came coming- and none of them were good.

If they found out who Peter was, if the bad guys found out that he was Spider-Man, then the Police would have a higher chance of tying him to the murder of his maths teacher. In so little time Peter's entire life could be so easily torn apart. He could be arrested and sent to jail for the rest of his life- his enemies could get to him- he could- he could-

She didn't want to think like that. No, she _couldn't _think like that. What happened to her father would certainly not happen to Peter, not at all. There was just no damn way. She wasn't going to lose him to this, she wasn't going to. Ever. Her father, like Peter, had fought for the good of the people, yet he was rewarded with death. Death and bloodshed and a rain of regret. What if Peter ended up like that? What would happen to him? God, she hated those wretched possibilities.

In a moment's random thought, however, she noticed she had found herself on Peter's street. She didn't pause and ignored her harsh and rigid breathing and forced her tired legs to hurry forward. _Damn it! _She cursed silently as she almost slipped, twisting her ankle slightly in the process. It only hurt a little bit, so she didn't bother with it- not caring about it and forcing herself to forget about it. She was finally about nine blocks from her destination...

_Seven blocks_

He would be fine. Peter would definitely be fine. She had rushed all the way here in the cold raging storm and was now drenched because he hadn't answered a phone call. Or several. She was here, running on the wet road through the harsh winds because she was worried- but nothing was wrong. Nothing could be wrong. He was absolutely fine.

_Five blocks_

The more she tried to convince herself that he was just okay- the more it hurt. Knowing everything was just _so wrong. _Knowing that normal teenagers their age shouldn't be worrying about being framed for murder, and assassins, and supernatural beings, and killers and death and bloodshed. It just- it just _couldn't- shouldn't-_ be this way. For either of them...

_Three blocks_

But they chose these paths. He chose to become an anti-vigilant- a _hero- _whilst knowing that people would die, would get hurt, would be out for his blood every day f the week without a single break. And so did she. And she chose to stay by his side and help him through it. She chose to go against her father's wishes and do what was truly right by her, even if it wasn't what was right by him.

_One block_

As she jogged the last few meters, she forced her breathing to even out and to stop her harsh panting. When she stopped, she was directly in front of his porch. Wiping the slight sweat that had somehow collected in her palms against her jeans, she slowly treaded up the steps of his house and took a deep breath. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to knock three times. Just three times. Going completely opposite the thirty times she wanted to pound on the door and demand an explanation from him. She tried her best to ignore the inner turmoil going on inside her chest and waited.

A minute or so later, she heard the lock from the other side being slowly unlocked. She waiting impatiently and eagerly- it was Peter she knew it. It had to be. He was okay- Peter was okay! Just as her heart leapt and she had the sudden bizarre and extravagant urge to leap and jump high into the air whilst pounding her fist in triumph like a crazy person, the door swung open. And the person on the other side...

Was certainly not Peter.

Rather, it was the person she expected least in the world.

"Officer Daemon..."

**The night before**

Simon watched from a distance as the unexpected occurred. Peter Parker had just walked his girlfriend- Gwen Stacey- to her house. Simon's original plan was to go after her, learn everything about her, and then use it to torment the young teenager whom loved her. He wanted Parker to wither away in absolute pain and agony just at the site of him. He wanted to show him what real suffering and hurt felt like, the kind only he could inflict. The kind that could scar an individual so badly they would never be the same again.

He had followed Stacey and Parker to Gwen's house, and watched as she had locked the door. He had noticed both their fidgeting earlier, as if they knew he was watching, ready to pounce and tear them limb to limb both physically and mentally.

But when Gwen had turned out the lights, Simon had heard a ruffling noise. Like trees swaying with the wind, leaves ruffling as they went. But something told him it wasn't that. Despite wanting to go with his original plan, he managed to change his motives and follow the sound. It came from where Peter was headed.

He had watched as the young man ran across the street for some unknown reason, and could carefully see his surprised and shocked expression. Even through the dark night, the boy's confusion was visible. Simon didn't understand, but he would- soon. Disregarding planning anything at all, against his better judgement really- he had moved out of the shadows only to find himself where he was now.

He had been ready to attack, and as his red eyes flashed and flickered again, just like the light on the other side of the road, he saw the outline and shadow of a figure like his own move closer toward Peter Parker. He couldn't make much out of it, but he could distinctly see it moving closer and closer until he was sure the teenager could sense it himself.

As Peter had turned and his eyes had widened, Simon resisted the urge to just run forth and push the unknown assailant away, because he wanted to inflict the pain he saw in Peter's eyes himself. It was agony- and for a few seconds Simon relished that look of utter torment and suffering.

He didn't know who this enemy was. He certainly wasn't with him or his master. If he was a fellow experiment then Simon would've known about him, after all- he knew all of them both inside and out, literally.

But as the 'man'- he defined and dubbed him as- forced Peter to his knees, and as Peter attempted to fight back- Simon couldn't help but become even more intrigued. Who was this man? What could he want with _simple_ Peter Parker? He was a teenage high school student!

He suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when a van pulled up along the curb, and the figure forced Peter in- who was obviously in a considerable amount of pain. The van's slide door shut and the figure got in, before hurriedly driving off and escaping the scene.

Simon had just watched Peter Parker get kidnapped by beings _like him_. Beings that were beyond the ordinary... but why? What was so special about Peter Parker? Peter Parker was not... Spider-Man.

_Who are you trying to convince?_

The voice whispered in the back of his head before disappearing, leaving him with traces of a possibility. A possibility so... damned. So- so _impossible. _Yet this impossible possibility was a possibility nonetheless. He had much to consider. Including the fact...

Including the fact that Peter Parker who was probably Spider-Man had been kidnapped by another league, and if this impossibility really was a possibility, then this just wouldn't do.

Both Peter Parker and Spider-Man seemed to have an awful lot of enemies...

**Like I said, I'll update before this weekend- giving me 2-3 days. What did you think of this chapter?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hullow guys. The next chapter just as promised XD The next one after this should be ACTION PACKED! And so will all that follow! Note that this story will definitely be completed, though had A LOT of chapters to go. I'm not even sure if this is half way or even close~ R&R (REVIEWS ARE LOVE)**

When Peter woke, he sensed nothing but darkness.

As he slowly opened his dark brown eyes, his palm subconsciously shot out to his forehead and pressed down hard. A nagging pain was inevitably growing in the vast space behind his eyes and deep into his temple. He let out a short breath of pain before notice just how cold it was. He could literally see the white puff of smoke that had escaped his lips, and despite the frozen aura, he figured he had more worrisome things to consider. Once his large eyes were fully opened behind his thick framed glasses, he managed to look around.

He was in a room- no, he was in a _cell, _of nothing but five-by-five grey concrete goodness. He found himself slumped against one of the cold walls in a seated position, with his left wrist shackled. Thankful that the majority of the bruising and such on it had healed already, he let his mind catch up to what he had just taken in.

So, he was a... prisoner.

Chained to a wall in an empty concrete room with no windows and only one large metal door that he figured he wouldn't be able to reach to begin with. Everything was in a dark, murky shade of one grey that seemed simply endless. He slumped further into the cold wall and surveyed his surroundings once more. He raked his brain and attempted to remember what had happened- how he had gotten where he was, what had happened to him- _why _he was here. Yes, that was exactly what he'd would've really appreciated to know- just why was he shackled to a wall in an eerie prison cell with no windows and only one large creepy old looking metal door?

He could remember walking down the street after hearing the conversation _Casey _had with a police officer. Who was he? He was sure it was a he because of the roughness of his voice. Just the _callousness _of his tone... he knew he should've remembered- but after making his way further down the road everything just seemed to sort of _fuzz _up and... _Blur. _

He saw- _felt- _something nearby. Something that just made him shudder and sent undeniable shivers up his spine. He had turned around- yes, and quickly, out of simple reflex- only to come face to face with... _eyes. _Red gleaming eyes that had created a feeling of absolute dread and _fear _in his heart. That made him feel like he was choking- that his chest was compacting- that he just couldn't breathe anymore. Just thinking about that horrible moment when everything had just _stopped_, when it seemed as if the world was just simply so frozen- it gave him shivers and made him unconsciously grit his teeth.

But something about those eyes was just so... familiar. It was like he had seen them before. Like he knew to whom they belonged to- but whom? His first thought was Simon. Simon who had caused him so much pain and agony with a stare- Simon who he was so sure just wasn't exactly human. Yes, the mystery man and Simon certainly shared a resemblance. Everything pointed to his teacher. The red eyes, the emotions he had no control over crawling across his veins and toward his heart. Because now Peter was more than sure, after such unpleasant experiences, that that was what the older man's ability was. To portray a mental emotion so strong it could break a man with simple ease.

But something- something nagging in the back of his head- told him it wasn't. It was his Spidey senses he knew, and he also knew that he shouldn't- _couldn't- _doubt in them, but everything _logical _was pointing to Simon...

Could there be more like him? It was obvious there were many others with super-human abilities and powers, an example would have been the countless people who seemed to have some vendetta against him, and who seemed to constantly want him dead for no reason whatsoever. He would've banged his head against the hard surface of the wall in exasperation if it didn't hurt so much already. Back to the subject, he forced himself. The emotions Simon had concentrated on making him feel earlier that week revolved around agony and pain and suffering and anguish, but this new assailant- because now somehow he was sure it was someone entirely, well maybe not _entirely, _different, made him feel _fear._

Yes, naked bare fear that struck right at his heart. It made it clench. It made him feel as if the world around him was crumbling, falling down, being _torn _down- brick by brick. As if everything bad and horrifying in the world had been compacted into a disc and shoved into his chest, sending him on a sort of strange, scary emotional turmoil. But what if it still was Simon? What if he also had the ability to _control _the emotions you felt, rather than just making you _feel _them?

Damn it. Why was he here in the first place? His thoughts travelled. That night- and he wasn't sure if it was still night or not- he had been walking as _Peter Parker, _not Spider-Man.

Not Spider-Man...

_Not! _Why would they just kidnap him if he was just a normal teenager walking down a street? Why? He really wanted to slam his head against the concrete behind him now, how could he had been so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid! He cursed silently. The scrambled pieces of the horrible puzzle which he had been thrust into the middle of began coming together. The really could only be one, single reason as to why his captor- or captors- would reveal their powers to him. Only because they knew.

Because they knew he was Spider-Man.

What other explanation could there possibly be? But if they knew who he was, what Spider-Man's identity was truly... then really, that wasn't so good.

A voice in the back of his head voiced out a sarcastic comment which he _really_ didn't need right now. Damn it, how had everything fallen apart so quickly? So now, he was injured, an organisation of mortals who really couldn't be called mortals anymore because of their super-powers were hunting him, the entire police force was out for his blood, he was putting all his trust in an escaped fugitive and criminal who had murdered his girlfriend's father, he hadn't told Aunt May anything about his whereabouts- not that he knew- so she'd obviously be worried sick, he was currently being held captive by what he could only safely- well, not so much- assume was _another _group of people who knew his true identity and could so very easily end his entire life, _and _he still hadn't started on his science project.

Damn _it_.

**With Gwen, Same time**

Gwen had received many shocks and surprised in her entire life.

Some of which, like the Harry Potter decorated cake she had received for her thirteenth birthday- or the giant cuddly brown teddy bear she had gotten for Christmas as a child, were extremely pleasant, encouraged and enjoyed. Some however- for example the hug bug she had found on her bed a couple of night ago, and the death of her father- were rather unwanted and were the ones she preferred to avoid.

Seeing Mark Daemon, the angry, large officer whose life Peter had _saved _and who was now out to _hunt_ him at her missing boyfriend's front door was one she could ever and oh so easily categorise.

Her breath hitched in her throat. This was certainly not what she needed right now. No, that man she had slowly come to dislike and even despise- seeing him was just not what she wanted. That still left her with a missing Peter. Why was he here anyway? Did they find something against Peter? Maybe they saw the footage on the camera from after the murder! She pushed the discouraging thought from her head and silently clenched her fist. She knew she must not look good now. Almost- well practically- out of breath, huffing and puffing and quite so soaked to the bone, after having run miles through a down pour of rain at a certain ungodly hour of the morning.

She took his appearance in. His uniform was the classic uniform- it looked just like the one her father wore... it had the same number of stars and badges... and- the thought suddenly hit her. How- why- had it taken so long for her to catch on? This man was supposed to be her father's replacement. A sudden surge of anger flared through her like nothing she had ever felt before. She knew she wasn't being reasonable; after all, the police certainly did need a police chief officer. But, really, she couldn't exactly help it. It felt as if, despite the rich expensive ceremony and the grieving, weeping and mourning men and woman, that they had just simply forgotten him. Which really shouldn't have happened.

"Ms. Stacey" his voice seemed... different. It wasn't like she had heard it before, on the television when he had been yelling and demanding Spider-Man's blood. It seemed- softer now. She noticed his greying hair and the bags under his eyes, though could not force herself to feel sympathy for him.

When she spoke, she could hardly contain the sudden bitterness and anger towards him. "Officer" she repeated herself, "I er-" if they were going to question Peter, she couldn't exactly tell them he was missing. If they found out he hadn't been seen or sighted since the previous night, then they might start getting ideas. Ideas that revolved around running away after committing a murder... "Just came to pick something up for Peter- for out science assignment." She didn't exactly _want _to lie, but she didn't really have a choice. When it came down between Peter and the law, it was Peter without a second's hesitation.

"Uhh..." he seemed slightly hesitant, completely unlike the man whom she had come to know through the TV screenings and such. Maybe he was a friend of her father's? Maybe he felt _pity _towards her? The thought made her clench his fists tightly again, though she hid them in his pockets. "And where is Mr. Parker? His aunt doesn't seem to know" he spoke slowly, as if unsure of his words.

She didn't answer at first- for a moment. "He's uh... at my place. He spent the night there because it had gotten so dark and cold" she said, slightly blushing. She forced herself to look him in the eye and put on her best innocent face.

"His aunt said he never called. Did something... happen?" he asked. She wanted to mentally slap herself. She felt like she should've been inside the house- telling and assuring the entire police force that Peter was at her house and completely innocent. But no, she was out here, in the cold, with Goosebumps crawling up her arms and shivering whilst answering- lying- to an officer.

"His phone died" she said immediately. So where was Peter? The real worry began to nag at her at that moment. It chose that very second to create and form a revelation in her head. As the realisation began to form in her brain, she noticed that he had spoken again and was asking her something- again.

"Why didn't he call from you home? Perhaps from your phone or such?" He said again, urging her for an answer. It took her only a second to come up with an answer-

"I don't have any more credit" she answered sheepishly for the first part, then continued; "And there was a blackout at my house. The electricity was cut off and all..." she trailed off, and then shivered visibly, immediately moving her hands to clutch her upper arms in the cold. She knew he would take this as a sign that she was cold and-

"Of course, come in..." he spoke in reply to her silent question. He moved out of the way and she stepped inside, forgetting to even take her shoes off. The only thing on her mind right now was reassuring Peter's aunt and acting clueless. She heard the door shut behind her and walked towards the main room, where she saw Aunt May sitting on the couch with a hot cup of tea in front of both her and a kind looking man who spoke gently to her. Gwen could almost see the worry about Peter and the annoyance at the questions from behind her thick facade.

"So what's this about?" she asked the older man, turning before she reached the room. She crossed her arms over his chest and waited, a stoic look clouding her once light and bright eyes. As the man looked hesitant again, she felt like sighing in such deep irritation that it should have gone further than that.

She thankfully refrained from doing so though, and waited as patiently as she could for the man to answer her. "We believe Mr. Parker may have something to do with the murder of John Wells." He spoke softly, and inwardly- she cursed.

"And what evidence has led you to believe this?" she kept her posture straight and her head high. Taking a silent inward deep breath, she forced herself to remain composed. She had to get Peter out of this. She had to.

"Well, he wasn't listed on the evacuation lists-" she couldn't help it. It was as if something inside her had just snapped. Her once stoic and careful yet 'clueless' composter was gone in a moment and replaced with something- something along the lines of _anger_.

"So just because he wasn't there at an _evacuation _then you believe he's a _murderer_?" she didn't really know what she was saying now, her wires frayed and her anger and stress from the past few days running high. "In fact, _officer-_" she knew she had to do this. Somehow, the only way of getting them to believe Peter wasn't there was to tell them he was somewhere else, "he was with me!"

The officer seemed to be in shock for a bit. Huh. She suddenly noticed that she had lied to an officer more than once in the same day. She had lied enough for him to send her to jail. She however, couldn't really find it in herself to care much about that, because if lying to an officer and risking prison would help Peter- she'd do it. She knew he wouldn't want her to, but he wasn't here now. No, rather he was somewhere with unknown assailants who probably included Simon. So being 'nice' and 'kind' and 'cooperative' with some police officer who had both taken her father's place and replaced him, and declared he was out for Spider-Man's blood, wasn't too high on her list of priorities.

"Ms. Stacey, I wasn't implying _anything_..." She didn't bother letting him finish. Rather, she walked right into the lounge room where Ms. Parker sat. Both the officer and the Aunt turned as she entered the room and she forced herself to relax. The officer came up behind her and she finally snapped herself out of her trance and kept going.

When Aunt May finally caught site of her, she stood up and immediately walked to Gwen. Then, despite the fact that the younger girl was practically soaked and all, she wrapped her arms around her in a short yet comforting embrace. At first, Gwen didn't expect it. It took her a moment to do anything, but soon she was also hugging the older woman.

It really was unexpected, but not uncomfortable. In fact, Gwen felt some of her worries slowly ebbing away as the two women shared the light exchange. When they broke apart Gwen gazed into the love of her life's aunt's irises. They were deep dark yet they still had a crystal complexion to them. A happy, glad young light that never seemed to fade eve over the many years.

Yet the older woman seemed worried, and Gwen couldn't blame her. She honestly wasn't sure who was having the worst inner turmoil inside, though she doubted Aunt May wasn't thinking the exact same thing. Gazing deeply into May's eyes even more, it seemed as if they had some sort of silent agreement in those few moments of which either officer had no idea about. It was then it was officially agreed to agree.

Gwen then slowly turned to the man who was behind her and sighed lightly. She was not going to make this easy for them. She was not going to tell them the truth- that much was all obvious, evident and definitely more than certain. She was not going to let them even remotely blame Peter, and she was going to get them out of both her and Mrs. Parker's hair as fast as possible, because whilst they were answering pointless questions to bothersome people about another person who didn't really even remotely matter, Peter could be in danger. In fact she was sure he was, and she refused to waste more time than necessary on this whilst she could be out looking for her missing boyfriend.

Licking her lips and staring deeply into the older officer's eyes sternly, unlike she had done with Aunt May, she cleared her throat almost silently yet quite audibly and fixed a more concrete expression on her features, one that only a few people- in other words her family and Peter- and perhaps even somehow May- could see through. Like a brick wall her eyes became unreadable and extremely unpassable. She blocked all truth from her stare and instead concentrated on putting up her barriers- creating little white lies and loops in the story she was now forming in her mind of Peter's whereabouts. They would not be getting anywhere this grey, dark murky morning, which was something she was positively sure of.

So when Daemon cleared his throat and asked her, "Ms. Stacey, could you please elaborate on the whereabouts of Mr. Parker before and after the murder of John Wells?"

She was ready.

Peter had gotten sick enough of sitting down and attempting to materialise his whereabouts. He was no Sherlock Holmes, he couldn't tell what kind of paint the walls of concrete were and where it was purchased- thus finding out his location, nor could he find anything whatsoever to pick the lock that was tightly cuffed around his wrist with. No, but he could stand- and that was an upside. It wasn't that he was too injured to do in the first place or anything- but the chain of the shackle had proven long enough for him to walk about a meter and a half or so before stopping.

That was something he had discovered shortly after waking up. As well as the naked light bulb that hung in the ceiling right in the centre of the room. He had only noticed it because it had begun to flicker a pale yellow light- that Peter was half sure was supposed to be white. He had cursed- and loudly at that- when his wrist had begun to bleed from the cuff around it. The cuff itself was so tight that as well as Peter almost not being able to feel his hand, any small movement would pull painfully at the skin and inevitably tear it.

He had tried to use his blood as some sort of lube to slip his hand through the shackle- but his first assessment had been correct- it was way too tight. In the very end this resulted in a painful wrist, an annoyingly pale light flashing and flickering every few moments, and more unsolvable endless questions.

Oh, and the fact that he was being held prisoner in a cell that looked like it had come straight from an eighties horror flick, where the psycho would enter the room slowly with a creepy smile and a patch up face like Chuckie's with a chainsaw and a torture kit. Then he would slowly make the victim scream and scream until they couldn't scream anymore, and then they would slowly dissect them whilst their alive.

Peter sighed. He had been watching too many horror movies. Again.

But was thinking like this really his fault? The scenery part was just about right- though he certainly hoped Chuckie wouldn't be showing up any time soon. Or Chuckie's human patch up look-a-like for that matter.

Peter knew that he was probably become delirious. Boredom did that to him. Which was strange actually, because he figured he that he shouldn't really be bored. After all- he was stuck in a scenario from a horror movie with his kidnappers probably knowing his real identity and his girlfriend and aunt were most likely worried sick now. Not to mention the other psychotic organisation _and _the police force out for his alter ego's blood to be shed.

Yet... he was still bored.

There wasn't much he could do. He had tried calling out, but he was sure no one could hear him- they were probably taking their sweet time. Peter had seen movies before. He knew- well _guessed_ more like it- that the people who had captured him were probably giving him time to adjust and yell out in fear, bang his fists against the wall, demand a way out- beg for his life. Little did they know he was poking a lump on the floor with his index finger being bored and all.

Not going over every little aspect of his life and fearing for it.

His thoughts suddenly travelled to Gwen. Beautiful Gwen who was probably confused and worried right now. Damn. He noticed, suddenly, that he'd been saying- or rather _thinking- _'damn' or 'damn it' quite often lately. Huh. He was snapped out of his reverie- however- when the door to her cell began to creak open.

Only a slight measure of light made its way in, and Peter held his breath in anticipation. A figure entered, along with about two others. The first- man- figure was tall and had a threatening aura about him. The other two though- were burlier- like body guards. And just like that, as the door shut loudly behind them- Peter literally felt all his happiness being sucked out of him. it was a horrible feeling that he never wanted to ever feel again. All his thoughts were now drawn into one morbid cycle of fear and... Sorrow.

The figure walked into the light, and was no longer cloaked by shadows. In fact, Peter could see him just fine- except that the most part of him didn't.

Then he went off and said something he probably shouldn't have, and he honestly didn't know where he even found his voice again,

"Talk about Chuckie"

He wanted to mentally slap himself as he stared at the figure in front of him. From his cheek to his ear was an ugly wide scar that seemed to be the result of a burn, but that wasn't even the worst of it. A patch of skin covered the entire left side of his face- except this patch of skin was not the same tone of colour as the other side. At the edges were large stitches, as if the held the two parts off his face together. His right eye was just a mess of swollen skin and a single deteriorated white pupil. Yes, this guy would definitely belong at a job interview to a horror movie right beside his best buddy, a _zombie _Chuckie. Because even that demented doll seemed to have better looks than this guy.

The grotesque zombie Chuckie who must've been cousins or _brothers _with Frankenstein just smiled. Peter honestly didn't think smiling could make someone look so scary. Peter inwardly shuddered at the site of the _fangs._

When the man spoke, it was even worse. He voice seemed to come up at a slither- to describe it as creepy would've been an understatement. "Hello Peter Parker" Peter gritted his teeth as he stared at the horrifying looking man above him, and forced himself not to flinch as he knelt down beside him. He unconsciously backed up further against the wall and held his breath, before asking-

"Who are you?" The man's eyes flashed for one heart stopping moment. It was then they became a seemingly permanent scarlet red, before speaking the two words that reminded Peter of exactly where he was, what he was facing, the two words that burned something into his heart-

"Your reckoning"

**What'd you think? R&R. Next chapter up SOON.**


	11. Chapter 11

**(Sorry this chapter's a bit short) OMG so sorry for the super late update! Been so damn busy! I tried uploading this SO many times! It was also delayed because I sprained my wrist and had to go to the doctor's. Stupidstupidstupid. Oh and, so sorry this isn't action packed lie I promised, and it might be slow and uneventful, but the next chapter will have SO MUCH PETER AND GWEN in it! who is Peter's reckoning? Next chapter. Also, I did not- CERTAINLY- did not mean for this chapter to go this way. Really weird how it ended, I didn't even think about it, or consider it really. **

Casey searched her pockets in a highly frustrated manner. Her once neat and perfect hazel high ponytail was now messy and low, as well as frizzed at the edges because of the freezing pouring rain. Her clothes were only- thankfully- slightly damp, despite the fact that her bright blue converses were soaking wet and officially ruined. She found it hard to care about such things though, and as she shoved her nimble practically numb fingers further down the miniature pocket of her dark navy jeans, she found the well-known feeling of extreme irritation just around the corner of her find. Where the hell was it?

Last night she had spoken to that Police Chief Executing officer, Mark Daemon. She had arranged the meeting not too late into the night- but late enough so that the darkness covered and concealed every spoken word- even if their conversation had gotten exceptionally loud.

She had given him a piece of paper that spoke more than she could tell him with her very own voice. She had known everything. For a while actually. And the more she knew and the longer she was forced to keep it a secret- only to herself- the more fidgety and annoyed she had gotten. Because it just made her so damn angry to know that _he _was walking freely. That _he _wasn't rotting away in some prison cell. That _he _wasn't bleeding out as his life slowly drained away from _him _in the most painful manner in some dark alleyway in the middle of nowhere where no one could hear his anguished screams.

No one except his girlfriend, perhaps. She had never really liked her anyway. Petite figure, perfect blonde hair, neatly clipped nails, first class smile, extremely high intelligence. Just like _him._

She really couldn't stress it enough. Maybe after she had watched the 'love of her life' die in agony, she could join him. Or maybe that would be too kind to her. Because other than _his_ hugely massive secret, she figured she didn't really have anything against _him._

No. He had been just like her, thrust into a life of only loss and tragedy. Where all his loved ones left him, taking parts of his heart with them as they went, barely bothering with a goodbye. Because he really was just like her... no, no he wasn't _like her, _he _had been _like her. They were two very different people right now. Because he went about everything the wrong way. He had gone his very own separate way and created an _alter ego _for himself. A mask, a facade he could hide from, behind the excuse of being a vigilante and helping civilians.

Because really inside, he had once been not _just _like her, but _exactly _like her. Alone in the cruel world where he was so very misunderstood. She couldn't help but sigh. She had liked him, once. A long time ago when he had just started. When he had been the quiet genius kid who sat alone in the back of the class, trying to make himself invisible. And he probably was, to most people.

But not her. No, she had noticed his every move. How he had used to bite his lip when he was nervous, how he used to have a light barely noticeably stutter, how his eyes would widen and his lips part ever so slightly when he was surprised. Everyone else had missed it. Even _she- _the one he now 'loved-' would've missed it.

It wasn't fair. Well it _hadn't _been fair. None of it. Why did he have to end up with _her? _She hated it. Because in her heart- somewhere_- _no matter how much she hated the fact and tried desperately to _hide _it and just to _forget _it- she couldn't. Most of her was in absolute denial. And it hurt. She didn't know why. Maybe it was his hair- the simple hazel darkness of it, the way how it was always messy no matter how hard he'd try to tame it, maybe it was his eyes- how they could be gentle and loving one moment and fierce and full of devotion the next, or his smile- how it always managed to light up her anger or sorrow and rid her of her pain...

As it still did.

And lord did she hate herself for it.

She despised her feelings. She despised the fact that she thought that way about him. That she undeniably loved him.

That she loved the one person she couldn't, the one person she was going to _kill._

She had known for a very long time now- that he was Spider-Man. She had known that he had put on a mask every night and saved innocent people- civilians of all ages. Children and mothers and fathers and grandparents. He had become a silent protector that the people of the country loved, but the country itself hunted by law. She knew why she didn't say anything...

She didn't say anything or tell anyone because at first she... admired him for it. She had found out on late night of trying to get outside and get drunk, trying to forget all the pain and hurt of her life. To drink her problems away, to drink herself into oblivion.

It had been a darkened night close to churn of midnight. She hadn't gotten successfully drunk and clueless like she had planned, no half way into the darkness she came to her senses and forced herself to man up to her problems. And that was when she saw them.

A group of five or six college students, older and bigger then her, had been following her. She had felt a sense of dreaded fear like never before and quickened her steps, clutching her hand bag tightly to her figure. They had come at her from all sides- and she was sorely tempted to throw her bag at them and just run screaming in distress. But she knew no one would hear her, nor would she get far- not in the damned heels she'd regrettably chosen to wear.

They had come close, before one of them had spoken. They had taunted her before they circled around her, closing all of her exists and barricading her in. She had tried to get out but another had just yanked her arm backwards as the others started to laugh.

She was about to scream before a hand had been clamped down on her mouth and she had been pushed back against one of them. She had known what was going to happen- but she didn't want to think about it. The tears had fallen down her eyes before she could stop them, fear striking the centre of her heart.

But then- in a single moment, as the other had come closer to her- one of them fell, and where he had stood before was a figure. In a tight red and blue uniform. From then one, every single one of the college-university students were knocked unconscious, one way or another. By then she had back away in to the corner and watched in absolute awe as the vigilante tied all the attackers together before walking towards her.

It was then someone had moved from the shadows. He had crawled up behind Spider-Man before lounging. She wanted to yell for him to watch out- but he had already known. He had turned around last second and thrust a punch at the assailant- but not before the other man had gotten a light grip on his mask and pulled.

She saw a reflection of pale white skin and a light bruise, as well a chocolate brown orb she wouldn't miss anywhere.

She didn't know what to think. Could it possibly be? Was he... Impossible. Just- but... he looked like him so much... The mask had gone back down before she could react to say something, and soon he had taken a deep breath and tied the other man with his remaining friends. Known who he was just wasn't on her mind right now, she just sorely wanted to thank him for what he had done, but her lips wouldn't work with her. She remembered him walking towards her and talking in a calm voice-

"Do you have a phone on you?" he had asked slowly, and now it was so painfully obvious. Spider-Man had definitely been him. This then escalated to her calling the police then explaining everything to them whilst he hurried into the darkness, his voice and face still stuck in her head.

She had gone home that night, and gone to school the following morning, looking at him and wondering if anything had changed- if he had recognised her. Apparently not though, because he had still barely noticed her- it was then so clear and mostly evident that mostly due to the darkness and the fact that he had never really seen her- that he hadn't recognised her as Casey from school.

And now she stood with her head bowed and her fists clenched as she remembered the events of that night. That was what made her love him. His courage, his strength, his bravery. That simple night in which she had decided to play fool and attempt to drink her sorrows away, had transformed a simple crush that she was sure was bound to go away soon enough into a fully fledged cursed feeling of love.

She had wanted to tell him. To tell him that she knew, and to confess her feelings. But then came the other girl. The one he had instantly fallen for, the one she was sure knew his secret. It had pained her to watch them walk to school hand in hand every day from then on, when that blonde had nothing in common with him. He had never known his parents and his uncle had bled to death in his arms, he parents had died in a house fire when she was five and she had never really been loved by her foster parents. The only person that ever truly cared for her had been her uncle.

Well, he wasn't really her uncle, more of her father's friend. He had helped her through hard times and had been a constant help- like a father. But a few weeks ago when he came he always seemed to have something on his mind. It had bothered her that he never really seemed to be paying attention to anything, and it pained her to see him as he slowly ceased visiting her. She had visited him one afternoon just to see what had been happening.

What she found had changed everything.

In his study, he had been, with the front door lightly open. Around the walls were pictures- of Spider-Man. Notes about him, writings, articles, everything. She didn't know what to think as he had turned around and told her that he was going to find out just who Spider-Man was.

She had asked why, but he had said only to help. They had talked and he had admitted he had been working with others- a man named Simon and another he only called 'Master'. He told her he knew things no one else did, and that he was so close to solving the biggest mystery of all times. That lives depended on the discovery of Spider-Man's identity.

That was when she had told him who he was. That was when she confessed everything. He had been surprised, and then explained to her that she had changed a lot of lives. She didn't know what to think as she saw the crazed look in his orbs. She regretted telling him, but he had explained to her repeatedly that she had done the right thing.

She hadn't slept that night. She didn't even know why she had done what she had done. She had seen _him_ the next day, bleeding, but she didn't say anything much. She had wondered whether John had anything to do with it, but then figured that the other had probably just been hurt earlier and forgot to treat himself or something.

It was later in the day when she had seen the closest man she had to a father's body crumbled and bleeding on the floor, and him rushing through the side gate bleeding and bruised.

The one thing she knew then- was that Peter Parker was Spider-Man as well as the person she couldn't help loving, and the fact that he had murdered her guardian- John Wells- in cold bold.

Simon tapped his feet against the cold concrete. He felt the chill even through his shoes and forced himself to remain composed as he stood before his lord who faced away from him and towards his large window. Simon had just told him what had happened, and already he was already beginning to believe that something else was stirring beneath an overgrown hidden veil. And a well hidden one at that.

Has master spoke in his rich intense voice, "Well, well, well..." he trailed off for a moment and Simon held his breath. His master had a certain threatening aura that made Simon just want to keep his distance. He listened as the other older man continued. "Isn't this peculiar... Peter Parker. He's no one too interesting, putting aside for his _strange _and..." he paused for a moment, "_compelling _past. His grades and his genius, but he's no one that stands out. He's no... Spider-Man." And Simon let out a shudder. He master suddenly stood up, and twirled around to face him. "Is he?"

"I do not believe so my lord" he kept his voice smooth and strained his ears as he listened to his companion whom seemed to be in deep thought.

"Who and why? Who and _why_?" He repeated, before his dark gaze finally met Simon's. "Do you have any idea whom might be behind this, Simon?" he asked him, now _really _looking at him.

"I do not believe so, Sire. Perhaps an old enemy of his father's? He was a scientist at Oscorp after all, before disappearing with his wife. Though, my lord, which is not what most intrigues me, no it is rather that Mr. Parker's father's partner." Simon licked his lips with a certain gleam in his eyes. The other smiled,

"Oh, and this partner interests you because...?" he asked him,

"He is- was- Curt Connors, my lord. He was arrested for the chaos caused after eventually breaking out. He was captured and turned over to the police by Spider-Man, sir" Simon said with a sharp voice that made his lord even more interested and compelled

"But why should Mr. Connors have anything against Peter? After all he was only his father's son, not his father himself" the other reasoned with a certain curiosity.

"That I do not completely understood sir, but I do believe he had some part in this- but my lord if you wouldn't mind..." Simon hesitated.

"Yes, Simon?" his master sat back down on his large throne like chair and looked at him. Simon licked his lips.

"Should we not be preparing for the next stage in the battle against Spider-Man?" he said, unsure as to what the older man's answer would be. He firmly stood his ground and watched as the said man considered his words. He continued, "After Wells, and Malice... well he has already shown his skill, our wait is only allowing him time to reciprocate. To heal."

"Oh, I understand that much Simon, but do you not realise the main key element you are missing?" he lifted an eyebrow and Simon looked both confused and unsure. "Time is what it takes to prepare the next level, time is what we require."

"Surely it does not take that long, my lord- we must make haste" he said in a rushed manner before realised his mistake. He took a step back slightly and his master merrily shook his head before standing up again. He leaned forward and placed both palms on his desk, also letting out a short disappointed sigh.

"Simon, Simon, Simon. We are many things, but we are not cheaters. Spider-Man must be brought down and he will be, but not whilst he is in such a state. No doubt he is injured, but also he must be expecting us, Simon. We attack when he least expects us to do so, have I not informed you before?" he asked again and Simon could feel himself becoming slowly agitated.

"So then, what of the girl? The one Wells had taken under his wing? I had been contemplating it- surely she must know something, about how he had found out- and even whom Spider-Man really is. Perhaps we can arrange something...?" he ended his sentence, successfully calming himself down and offering a light yet bitterly evil smile.

"Oh yes, young Casey. No I have no doubt she is aware of something, but what it is shall be unknown to us for a while, because I am simply _intrigued _as to the whereabouts of Peter Parker. Simon, do find him, and the culprit" he smiled dazzlingly though in a way which gave Simon shivers.

"My lord-" he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Why does Peter Parker interest you so? Why do you hold him in such... a high regard of priority?" he spoke as evenly as he could. He did not know why Peter Parker mattered so much, but it was Spider-Man they were after, not Peter Parker. Yes, they would both certainly get their turns and ways with the young teenager, but why did he interest his master? He was no Spider-Man, and despite the fact that Simon desperately wanted to know exactly _who _he was, and to simply crush his wills beneath him, he was not the well-known and famous vigilante.

"Everything seems curious about the boy, doesn't it, Simon?" but when Simon didn't answer, he continued, "Simple _curiosity_"

"Curiosity killed the cat" Simon said to him, with a look that told him he'd find out _everything _about Peter Parker, the good and the bad and the tragic. He would know all his secrets and tales, he know his signature and his handwriting. Spider-Man was going to have to wait, because soon enough Peter Parker was to be taken from the other culprit's clutches only to be trapped within their own...

And he would not have a single secret left unknown.

"Satisfaction brought it back"


	12. Chapter 12

**IMPORTANT (SECOND PART- PLEASE READ)**

**Guys, sorry for the super late update. This is really important though- this chapter is Peterwhump. Well I... think it is? I don't have much experience... this entire chapter is PeterCentric, just like a lot of you guys have wanted for a while... so who is Peter's reckoning? READ AND REVIEW please! They encourage me, the more reviews, the faster I tend to write... XD**

**Important bit- this story (I think) is about to get darker. There will be torture though nothing over the warning. I'm not too good at whump, but beware of blood and violence- hence the rating T.**

**Next update should be in a few days depending on reviews and such...**

What Peter felt now, was a different kind of pain.

He could relate it to what he had felt in the science lab with Simon. He could relate it to the absolute pain and agony that had shaken his core and left him to hang dry afterwards. He could relate to the strange sense of sorrow and despair that had crawled up into his heart and pierced it with its talons, raking both his mind and body into fits of complete and utter anguish.

Except it was multiplied, by at least ten times. What he had experienced within Simon's sharp gaze a few days ago at school was really, if he had to be honest, nothing compared to this. This was pain that was both physical and mental. He could feel the harsh ache of his limbs as if they had suddenly turned into lead. The tremors that ran through his being. The fact that he could hardly breathe, as if a hand was clamped around his neck, squashing his wind pipe and stopping his intake of air.

Now that he thought about it, it probably was. It wouldn't be a surprise, considering he had lost all feeling of the world a while ago. And as he struggled to breathe further whilst simultaneously putting up with the pain and practically begging for unconsciousness, his thoughts strayed.

He- suddenly- realised that he was probably the only person in the world who could think about something other than then death defying pain he was feeling. It wasn't a pleasant one at that, the feeling of his bones and joints cracking and grinding against each other, the flesh of his skin breaking and tearing, his fingers burning as if broken, fresh bruises littering his pale form, the enormous headache pounding at the back of his skull, the fact that he could only struggle to breathe.

He most likely was, especially if they strayed into basically an abyss of nothing but wanting darkness. A funny thing to want, though a thing of mercy nonetheless. And for that reason, he wasn't likely to get it soon- not with his current luck anyway.

He could feel his heart thump painfully against his ribs- that he was so sure just had to be either cracked or broken. Really, life wasn't too fair to him. How had he managed this anyway? Kidnapped. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Nothing like a good, fair kidnapping from an over dramatic zombie Chuckie- or as the other older man preferred, his _reckoning._

Really, despite his young age, he was getting too old for this.

He knew he was supposed to be concentrating on anything that might help him escape- _leave, get out_- but right now, his mind's eye strayed and seemingly random thoughts were the only aspects that made any of this even remotely bearable. Because _god- _it hurt so damn much. More than he wanted to admit. Most of his being was even astounded that he was still able to conjure intelligible thoughts in the amount of agony he was in.

He didn't really remember what had happened after it did. He vaguely remembered the man- _Chuckie_- he dubbed him- walked through the door and make him shudder, before claiming he was his _reckoning. _God, how cheesy was that? Now that Peter thought about it, it really didn't seem as cheesy as it had when the pain and suffering had begun. Rather, it had begun to serve its purpose- or what Peter presumed to be its purpose- to create panic.

Now Peter had to admit- he was a calm kinda guy. There was no way he could have become Spider-Man by jumping at everything, now could he? But this- now _this_... this was something else. It was seriously 'fraying his wires'. What strange terms he was able to come up with in such torment. Honestly, he couldn't tell- through the constant tremors and agony that raked his body- if he had come up with that or if it had already existed, and he had simply remembered it. For some reason.

A particularly painful moment passed where he honestly- seriously- just wanted to _scream. _But his throat had run dry a long time ago. Yes, his vocal chords were _sizzled _for lack of better word. His throat was raw from the yells and screams that had erupted through it, the ones he couldn't stop or control. The ones that occurred in the beginning.

When the beginning_ was_, Peter couldn't tell. He couldn't tell how long he had been up against the hard wall- _or floor, he seriously didn't know which anymore_- tight shackles against his wrists, his blood pouring, bones broken, bruises forming, either. He didn't even know whether it was morning or night, or perhaps somewhere in between- like day or dawn. Or evening or afternoon. It could be any, really. Though without a window or _something_ that reflected the outside world- he wouldn't know. Ever. And the large, burly, _mean_ looking door at one end of the cell didn't count.

Wow. He noticed, he had just called a door _mean_. He had to get out of here- and soon. And he would- somehow. Right after he stopped silently screaming and _writhing_- he realised- in so much damn agony. Yes maybe then he would begin to formulate a plan of 'attack'. One that didn't just consist of _attack._

Because he knew there were more of them than he could handle- especially whilst he was like this, in his... condition. Yes, and once he escaped; maybe he could tie his captors up and give them to the police. Or maybe he would just give them all a good solid punch to the nose- especially his _reckoning. _Yes, that guy would definitely get the worst. And maybe he would throw them in a river. Somewhere far- and dirty. Like the Thames in London or something. Yes, something like that suited these guys just fine.

Or maybe he would string them up by their toes and... And... Peter really wasn't too good at this, torturing, business. No. Perhaps he could as his 'mates', yes the very same guys who had kidnapped him off the streets close to the middle of the night a few hours- or days, he didn't really know- ago.

Then he remembered the conversation he overheard. Casey wanted him dead. Well, not really him- but really him at the same time- considering he both was and _wasn't _Spider-Man. He mentally sighed- his life really was too complicated.

That was when he felt something different- well, not really _different- _considering it was all _pain- _but it was something that made him feel as if a hand had been brutally shoved deep into his chest, fingers curled around his heart, before forcefully pulling it out of his flesh.

It was then his eyes snapped open.

He wasn't even sure if they had closed to begin with, but suddenly he was aware of everything and _so much more. _He pain suddenly came to an abrupt halt- and he found himself sitting, leaning- his back against the cell of the concrete wall behind him, panting. Out of breath.

Shivers shook his form and he forced himself to clench his teeth and the immediate after math of the pain. It wasn't as bad as it had been a moment ago, but it still felt like tens of thousands of daggers continuously piercing his skin.

His eyes were wide behind his glass- which he only just noticed he was still wearing- and he frantically looked around. He was welcomed with the most unwelcoming sight.

Chuckie was there, kneeling in front of Peter- who had one leg crossed and the other spread. His stance seemed to be casual, but nothing about him was- not the pain in his eyes, the shudders or the shivers, or even both the physical and mental exhaustion.

Peter also noticed that Chuckie was _really _close to him. He was up against the wall as much as he could be, anymore and he was certain that he would probably fall through. The closeness made him very uncomfortable, considering the deranged yet calm look in Chuckie's darkened crimson orbs.

He smiled, and Peter was too exhausted and in pain and just too damn hurt to bother suppressing his flinch.

"So..." his voice trailed off and slithered- reminding Peter way too much of a snake. "Peter Parker..." now Peter was seriously getting annoyed. He didn't know what made him do it- the frayed nerves, the exhaustion, the pain- probably a mixture of all three-

"Yes so you know _my name. _Good for you! Know any other _useful _facts or can I go now?!" he snapped. The look on Chuckie's face was laughable, but immediately Peter regretted his choice words. Suddenly, he wished that he had kept his mouth _tightly shut._

Chuckie glared, and the colour of his eyes literally _changed. _From a dark creepy maroon-orange tone to a flaming _angry _scarlet red. And before Peter could react, the older man's fist curled and he punched him in the cheek, and Peter flinched violently as his head cracked against the concrete.

His vision swam in a haze of black and darkness before the shapes blurred back to normal, and the teenager could feel the bruising and fracture in the bone of his cheek. His headache was becoming almost as unbearable as the 'captor-induced-pain' had been, and the hit just added to his agony. He winced as Chuckie visibly forced himself to calm down and his eyes settled to a light red tone. Creepy.

"Peter, you should really watch your tongue..." he muttered softly, but Peter could here every single word being said because of the close proximity. Chuckie was so close that Peter could feel his breath- against his ear now as he neared and whispered, "Or it may just be the death of you."

If it was possible, Peter back further against the wall and looked at Chuckie. He licked his dry lips. He honestly wanted to be anywhere _but _here.

"Who are you?" And that, Peter suddenly realised, was the smartest question he had asked all day. The other man paused for a moment- before answering,

"Have I not told you already?" He replied, and despite the horribly 'frightening' situation, Peter managed to roll his eyes. Chuckie looked at him with a sense of genuine curiosity- and Peter said,

"Yeah, my _reckoning. _You said that already, so why don't you give me a _real _answer?" Peter didn't know where this was all coming from. What the hell was he doing? Hell, with his luck this guy was going to be smart enough and just kill him- which really, was _not _something he wanted to think about right now.

"Peter, Peter, Peter- ever the _feisty _one aren't you?" he leaned in closer, and Peter successfully- or so he thought- resisted and suppressed shuddering. "You don't understand, do you? You don't know, _do you_?" And rather than stopping himself from shivering at the cruel voice, Peter resisted giving him a black eye.

"Why don't you enlighten me?" he replied fearlessly, and watched in confusion- though he didn't let it show- as Chuckie chuckled softly.

"Think Peter. Why would we kidnap a simple _schoolboy_?" and Peter bit his lip.

"Wells told you. Wells told you who I am." Chuckie smiled again,

"Yes, very clever Peter..." Peter seriously wished he would stop using his first name- or just to stop _saying it like that_. "Yes, Wells knew, but do you know how Wells knew Peter? Did you even bother to ask him before you _murdered him in cold blood_?" This time Peter really did flinch. Chuckie's words were like a knife to the gut that twisted itself continuously every few seconds. It just made Peter hate the man even more.

He literally growled at the man with a fiery look in his eyes- doing his best to mask the hollowness- the emptiness- the _guilt_ he felt every day since he had killed Wells. He knew he shouldn't have felt it, it was just so _horrible _to realise that he had killed someone. But... it was something he had to overcome, and he would. He would overcome it-at least for now...

"How?" He asked and willed his voice not to tremble as images and pictures of Wells hanging from a web, toppling down, his body smashing against the concrete below, the _blood_...

The other man infuriatingly laughed lightly again. Then, suddenly, after a moment of waiting- he spoke, "You have more enemies then you know, Peter..." the man's laugh erupted lightly again and Peter forced himself to calm down.

"That isn't exactly an answer, now, is it?" He spit out and glared at the man, who had now- much to Peter's thankfulness- moved back so that Peter could see him completely. And despite the fact that he was still rather close, Peter could no longer feel his hot breath on his skin.

"So Peter- you want to know who told John Wells that you are the infamous Spider-Man?" As well who we are- and what I want with you..." he said, trailing off and looking at Peter expectantly.

"To put it simply, yeah" he replied, biting his tongue and stopping himself from retorting sarcastically. Questions kept running through his head, but he forced himself to build a calm- or so he thought- exterior as he waited for an answer from the opposing man.

"How about we do this? It's a... game I like to play-" Peter didn't say anything, so the man smiled and kept going, "-I answer one question, and in return- you answer one too. If you don't, however, well then Peter- I'm afraid things are going to get a _lot _more challenging."

Peter hesitated- before asking, "Who are you?"

The man's shark-like toothy, _scary _grin expanded before he answered. "So, you've decided to play then? But remember Peter- if you don't answer the question there _will_ be a price..."

"Just answer the question." Peter told him in return, and if it was possible- his smile grew wider. Suddenly Peter didn't know if 'playing' this 'game' was such a good idea.

"Vaurian Michaelis" he simply replied, and Peter momentarily wondered if it really was his name or the first one that popped into his head. What kind of name was Vaurian for a bad guy? He didn't react but made sure to memorize the name- when he realised something. He probably wasn't going to get out of here alive.

Or at least that was what Chuckie- _Vaurian _thought. That was the only reason he would be telling Peter any of this- it clearly wasn't on his agenda to let the younger breathe longer than necessary.

But Peter wasn't going to make it easy. He had no plans on revealing anything of importance to him.

"My turn..." Michaelis said playfully and Peter held his breath. "Where is Curt Connors?"

Peter froze.

How on earth did Michaelis know he knew? How the hell did he know that he had escaped to begin with? Everything was supposed to be under wraps. For a moment, he solely panicked. There was _absolutely no way _in hell _or _heaven was he going to tell Vaurian. Right now it didn't matter how he knew, or how much he knew- because it clearly wasn't enough. And he was after Peter for this information- but if he thought he was going to actually _get it_- then he certainly had another thing coming.

He forced himself not to stutter or seem surprised as he spoke. "What makes you think I know?" Answer a question with a question. It wouldn't solve his problem- or get it out of it, but at least it would stall and give Peter time to think and consider- whatever it was he had to think and consider about.

"Peter, Peter, Peter- please..." he motioned with his hand for something. There was a faint shuffling behind him where Peter couldn't see- in the shadows- until one of the burly men Peter had seen earlier cam up, and placed in Michaelis's outstretched hand an object. It was long and wide and silver. And sharp- very, _very _sharp. It was a knife- longer than the average, but not too long- and its hilt was expertly carved so that a structure of a black slithered around it, making it comfortable for the wielder. Peter would have admired the fine craftsmanship further, if it were not for the way Vaurian held it.

The blade shone in the weak and flickering light of the naked bulb above their heads, giving the man opposite Peter a garish look- like how a serial killer would look as he prepared for his kill. He even fit the roll.

His thumb flicked off the edge. "Do not take me for a joke Peter." And something in his words made Peter inwardly shiver. Just how much did this guy know? "I know he escaped prison- and I know he has been in contact with you. Now, Peter, I honestly suggest you tell me..."

Peter still didn't say anything. He gritted his teeth and fought hard against a grimace as Michaelis ran his finger across the knife. There was a cruel, sadistic look in his eye as he paused for a moment.

"I don't like being cheated, Peter" he said in a quiet, dangerous voice.

"Then ask a different question." Peter replied to him bluntly. He, truthfully, didn't know where his wit and sharp tongue would get him in the future. Probably nowhere good, he figured.

"You and your sharp tongue, Peter." His tone of voice suddenly beared an angry hint to it. "You don't want to know what happens to those who cheat me- let along experience it." Oh, of this Peter was _so_ sure, but he had no choice. It wasn't like he was ever willingly going to betray Connors. Despite everything, the man was a good man. He had saved Peter's life and had regretted his mistakes. Peter wasn't going to give him up to some messed-up faced zombie Chuckie, no matter how many shivers he sent up his spine.

"Why are you so interested in Doctor Connors?" He asked bravely. More bravely then he felt inside.

"You've had your question already Peter... so _answer me mine!_" He snared, and Peter swallowed. After a minute or so and he still hadn't replied or said anything. "Fine then..." He said darkly, "Have it your way."

And with that- without a single tone of warning and super fast inhuman reflexes like nothing Peter had ever seen before, he drove the knife right through his shoulder.

Peter gasped as the blade drove itself straight through the pale flesh of his shoulder through his shirt- like butter. It slid right through the skin and out the other side, the tip only slightly grazing the concrete wall of the cell behind him. His shoulder burned, and felt as if flames began to lick at it, making him wince. The blade seemed to be made of a blazing poison. It was as if the knife had been heated and smouldered before it had been speared through his flesh. It was then Peter knew it was no normal blade.

And as Michaelis sadistic twisted it- slowly to the side- and as it continued to cut through his skin- darkening his vision for a few seconds- Peter realised just how right he was. It was twisted further at an angle of three-hundred and sixty- before it was roughly yanked out. He flinched back and his hand flew to his shoulder- but he could barely concentrate. The pain was horrible- as bad as the suffering he had felt earlier in its own way.

He suddenly felt more exhausted than before. The aching in his joints pierced more than ever, and his headache was so bad it would have been less painful to have a sledgehammer beat on his skull. That was no ordinary weapon- definitely not.

Peter vaguely felt warm blood ooze down his arm slowly before his breaths became more laboured and his hand finally reached his wound. His fingers slowly clamped around it tiredly and he forced himself to concentrate as the war, scarlet liquid poured from in between his fingers.

As Vaurian's face swam back into a blurred view, Peter's assailant spoke. "You could have made things easier Peter..." Peter felt sick as his tone sounded genuinely laced with regret. He gulped an intake of air and forced himself to breathe as his world began to turn and tumble, and all that was left were strange shapes and an unending stream of pain. "You could have made it so much easier on yourself, Peter. Will you tell me now?" Peter's vision finally came into focus again and his mind calculated Michaelis's sadistic words.

"You're wasting your time." Peter said simply through his haze of near death and agony. He managed to catch the disappointing flash in Vaurian's red irises before the emotion- flicker- turned into something more. Something excited. Peter held his breath as Vaurian smiled again, and held onto his wounded shoulder further. The blood dribbled down through the fabric of his jacket- which now seemed a lot thinner due to the sudden cold.

"So be it." There was movement again from behind Vaurian once more and the younger man looked behind him curiously. If he hadn't been so exhausted, he would have flinched at what he currently saw.

In the middle of the room was now a metal chair. It looked quite so uncomfortable. One of the burly men was nearby, then moved toward the chair and took hold of it in two strong, muscular arms. He lifted it and walked beside where Peter was, before placing it down and returning to his post- where he had been previously. Peter noticed there were many splatter of something dark of the chair- something which he assumed was dried blood.

Vaurian stood up, and without another word, he hauled Peter up to his feet painfully and forced him onto the chair. Peter cried out as his wound as jostled and his blood began to cover Michaelis's fingers, who took no notice of it. the younger's hands were forced behind him roughly- making him wince in agony- before they were cuffed together- his shackles still in place, chain to both his wrists and the wall behind him.

Michaelis came and stood in front of him, and Peter forced himself to look up from his slumped position. He lifted his head and did his best not to strain his shoulder. Vaurian offered him a sad, evil smile.

"This could have been done a much easier fashion, Peter" Peter bit his lips, attempting to ignore the cruel man above him- and to just breathe. "We could have played the game- you would have gotten your answers and I mine"

"You would have never let me live" Peter spit out, "and there's no way in hell I'm ever going to betray Doctor Connors to the likes of _you_"

A deep, angry satisfying- well for _Peter _it certainly was- growl erupted from Vaurian's throat before he sneered and turned around to talk to his lackey's whom had gotten increasingly closer to them when Peter hadn't noticed.

"Show him pain, gentlemen- but keep him... alive. For now at least. We're still waiting on the shipment." And with that, Michaelis left, leaving Peter alone with the two large 'gentlemen'. One of them moved to the front of the room- where on the wall- chained- were things Peter hadn't noticed before.

Knifes- butcher ones, blunt ones, scalpel type ones, whips- Peter hoped to _lord_ they weren't going to use those, syringes with vile looking liquids ranging from blue to a milky cream white, _maces_- oh hell, Peter thought desperately- why did they have _maces_ of all things? There were _so_ many other things that Peter felt nauseated by the time he had looked through less than _half _of them.

A fear struck at him and he forced himself not to panic. But hell, these guys seemed to own a medieval torture shop. He watched helplessly as one of the men pulled out a large hammer- _sledgehammer- _Peter corrected- and _smiled _at him.

Peter would find a way out- after this. When he was alone and could think properly and _not _in so much pain. He had no doubt they would probably and most literally make him want to wish he were dead. But he wouldn't give in. Not yet anyway.

And as the men came closer and he forced his mind to calm down and stop thinking about the most painful manner in which to string their toes after he'd escaped, a single thought slithered forth,

_What do they want with Doctor Curt Connors?_


	13. Chapter 13

**I know you probably hate me. An oh god I'm so sorry. I honestly didn't mean to update this so late- but everything's been so horrible. I'M ON HOLIDAYS AS OF TODAY. BUT, there was an accident and a lot of people were hurt ad something's up with someone's ankle and basically I've been studying and babysitting and spending nights at the hospital. I'm so sorry. Honestly. Please forgive me, even though I know what I've done is quote unforgivable. I'm so sorry if this chapter confuses anyone... D: Please tell me what you thought; even if it's a PM. I take all thoughts and ideas in consideration. Thank you :) **

Everything was barely comprehendible.

Blurs and dark colours. Nothing was clear, only slightly vague at times. Every single movement occurred with such an unbelievable speed, yet to him it all seemed in slow motion. As if the sands of time themselves couldn't decide whether to remain at a constant rate. As if an invisible clock had been plastered on the invisible wall that made up a side of his invisible barrier. And it ticked, slowly, back and forth. Between a single set of hours, minutes, _moments. _And back and forth it went. The hands never moving within a major range of each other. They just kept going, _tick, tock, tick, tock. _

The sand in an hour glass dripping down one by one, _one by one, _so slowly yet gone in the blink in an eye, and then reversed completely. Up and through the small waist of the feature, the sands of time would fall upwards, again and again and again, never taking long enough to make sense.

Nothing really made sense anymore.

Not once he lost himself to pain, the agony. He couldn't look past it. He doubted he could ever look past the sledgehammer coming down against his knee, the knife slashing across his arms, the needles stabbing into his bruised and battered flesh.

He wanted the pain to be over, but knew they had barely begun. What were a few broken bones and bruises to the red and blue suited crusader? What would the blood that was continuously pouring out of his wounds like never ending death defining rivers, mean? Nothing. Not to them anyway.

He'd forgotten _their _names a long time ago. He didn't even remember if he had known them to begin with. Who knew? Who _cared? _Certainly not him. No, it was rather challenging- more challenging than it might seem- to remember a few useless names in his head. Especially when he was being tortured like this- physically and mentally. The physical anguish was obvious, the blood and deformed stains marring his pale skin were enough to prove that. The mental? The knowledge that he was probably never going to leave. The understanding that he will most likely never set eyes on the bright sun, the clear skies, the _outside world- _ever again. It hurt- to know that he may honestly never feel a comforting breeze against his skin.

And then he took a deep breath and a single moment to rake through his memory- lurking not really _past_ but _around _the haze of seemingly never ending pain which clouded his mind and tried his best to remember if he was forgetting anything. _Anyone. _

_Tick, tock, tick, tock, _it was almost as if he could actually hear the clock. He knew he could do better than this, and he did. He was able to remember everything; he was able to remember _everyone. _The laughter that echoed through his ears, the smiles that drifted past his vision, the loving touches that reverberated against his skin.

Gwen.

Wonderful, wonderful, Gwen. He realised a while ago that she must be worried, and he'd almost forgotten the concern he had felt for her. But he could never truly forget, not that he actually wanted to. He didn't enjoy feeling guilt. The guilt that plagued his mind of leaving her- not that it was actually his choice. But in a way it did him good. It tied him down- down to earth- and remained him constantly that he was alive, that one way or another he will make it out of this. He will.

Aunt May soon followed the memory of Gwen. And knowing that she was probably just as worried as Gwen is hurt him. He already knew that one way or another he was going to make it up to her. Them. Yes, definitely, them, _both _of them.

Sighing, yes he can somehow tell h was letting out that short puff of breath, probably out of exhaustion rather than boredom- as a final face followed.

Doctor Connors.

It was somehow easy enough to remember the previous conversation he had with Vaurian Michaelis. Somehow, he was able to force his way deep into the centre of his mind and reply those particular words, and his strange train of thought. It was always the unanswered question that got him.

He couldn't answer the question now. He could barely open his eyes as the feeling and pain of a new, fresh bruise forming snapped him out of his reverie. His eyes were open, but his vision is stained with the blood running from the gashes on his forehead. His arms were becoming numb- finally- but that would pretty much be the only good factor of the entire experience. There was a little- okay, maybe not so _little_- drummer dancing about and pounding both inside and against his skull and it was killing him. Metaphorically speaking. Because right know he could name about- at least- another dozen or so factors of what was- is-could be- will be, _probably_-killing him. Loss of blood- and so much, _too_ much of it- his captors and _their anger_, because he's made them so angry more times than he can count with his smart aleck retorts and insults, the painful- _very painful-_ torture instruments causing him the agony, his loss of hope- almost- and so on.

He could die- he knew he could, there were more ways than one, and he could give up. That would be so much easier. To just finally give in to the comforting darkness and close his eyes.

But Gwen will was waiting for him to come back. His Aunt would slap him upside the head and tell him to 'cowboy up' or to _stay strong_. And he will, he will- for their sakes, for the sake of solving this damned mystery of everyone and anyone wanting him dead, and of these insane people and Zombie Chuckie's seeming obsession with Connors.

He would escape soon.

Peter vowed that to himself, he would leave and they would never see it coming. And _then_ he was going to give Chuckie a good old square punch to the nose.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Gwen bit her lip in worry as the police officers left. She could hear Aunt May in the small kitchen behind her putting on the kettle and fixing up some tea for the both of them- something to help them both relax, even if slightly.

But Gwen knew she couldn't.

Not when Peter was gone- missing. It hurt her so much to say it. He had disappeared, _vanished_ into thin air. But she was going to find him.

The police officers had obviously asked questions, but they asked too many of them. And she couldn't remember the last question she hadn't lied about.

Through every word that came out of their lips she wanted to scream at them, hell- she even wanted to _throw _something at them. Preferably something both heavy and painful. Something that would give them big, red, bumps on their heads and get through their thick skulls. She knew they were only doing their jobs, but couldn't help but feel a surging anger towards them. Anger so strong she had to take a few deep breaths to physically calm herself.

Yes, it was that bad.

With every question they asked, it was as if they already knew the truth. That Peter was the convicted criminal, that he was going to go to jail for murder.

And then there was a problem- the security surveillance tapes. There weren't _supposed_ to be cameras in that building, and no one knew about them except the school committee- the one she was a part off. One that Casey was a part of too. She pushed back the undeniable feeling of anger towards the other girl, and knew that the best time to take action and remove those tapes would be the next day of school, very early in the morning when no one but the janitor was around. She couldn't do it tonight because there were too many people and the gates would be closed anyway.

She gritted her teeth at the thought and inhaled and exhaled. She would find Peter, and everything would be answered. All of her questions, all she ever needed to know- about Simon, the kidnappers, whether the kidnappers and the kidnapping had anything to _do _with Simon, about _everything._

She contemplated calling Doctor Connors- but two main factors stopped her from doing that.

First were the strange, raging emotions she felt towards him. Was it anger? Was it hurt? Betrayal? She didn't know. He had murder her father. And she had gone over this fact many, _many _times, and came to the same conclusion every single time. As much as she wanted to, as much as it would have explained a lot of things, she didn't hate Connors. She didn't think she could.

She wasn't really one for handling grudges, even if it was about something as big as this. He _had_ saved both Peter and her after all, and he wasn't in control when he became the lizard and did the things he did.

So whilst things weren't exactly smooth, or wonderful between them, they weren't hateful and loathing either. She knew she could find it in herself to forgive him eventually- but it would take time. And honestly, right now she would forgive him in a heartbeat if it meant he knew something- _anything- _about Peter's disappearance.

The _second _major factor was that she had never gotten the number to the building he currently resided in. Hell, she didn't even know if that old, dingy place even had a phone. How could she call him if she didn't have a number, or somewhere to call to- to begin with?

She was going to visit him, because right now, besides Aunt May and Peter himself, there was no one she could really trust with this situation other than him. Not even her own family.

She vaguely debated revealing everything to Aunt May, though she knew the older, kind woman was already suspicious. Despite that strangely and oddly comforting fact, she wasn't just going to outright tell her that her nephew was Spider-Man. She didn't need to worry her even more, she didn't need her to know more than she had to so she couldn't become a suspect in any murders Peter was believed to be involved in, as well as the fact that it wasn't her secret to tell.

Unless things became so desperate, she wouldn't put Aunt May in such a position of jeopardy. She couldn't do that to both her and Peter.

She heard Aunt May coming up behind her, and made a decision.

She would go to Doctor Curt Connors later that night, when she was sure no one was watching the both Peter and her homes. She would answer Aunt May's questions to the best of her abilities without giving away enough for the older woman to be in danger. She would find Peter.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Simon thought this newly discovered information was just _so _interesting. There was something extremely odd about it and for some strange reason that Simon himself couldn't explain, he was suddenly so glad that his Lord had asked him to dig up and discover everything about Peter Parker's activities in the past few weeks.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

So it turned out, that when Connors had broken out of prison, he had been searching for something. Something no one knew about, except an organisation. Strange, Simon thought silently to himself, and this organisation wanted him dead. Or did they? Somehow this was connected to Parker himself, and when Simon found out, he could hardly believe it himself.

Connors hadn't been working _against _Peter Parker. Simon's initial guess had been that Connors was in association with the organisation that wanted something _he _had- whatever that was he didn't know _yet_- and in exchange for this _object _they had made an agreement to kidnap the boy.

But how wrong he was.

No, as it turned out, Connors was working _with _the boy. Curious. Very curious indeed. Why would he? Well, that was what it seemed like anyway. Maybe Connors was _conning _him. Maybe Connors was conning them all...

"Sir?" Simon asked, after his master had not spoken for a particularly long period of time. He tilted his head slightly.

He had just revealed all of this information to his Master whom was merely gazing onto his hard wooden desk. There was another eerie moment of silence before he spoke.

"So Connors has something this..." His Lord paused, as if searching for the correct word, "_organisation _wants, something they would _kill _for, something _Connors_ won't give them?" Simon merrily nodded. "But they cannot find Connors, but they could find the next best thing. The _key_ to his location..." He chuckled slightly, and Simon paid extra close attention. "So they kidnapped Peter, because _apparently,_ he had been working _with_ Connors since the beginning?" He ended with an almost sarcastic tone, though Simon knew he believed him.

"Yes, My Lord. I realise that it is a working theory, and it could really be that Connors is simply _conning _every piece on this intricate board, they could all just be _pawns._" Simon replied simply.

His superior laughed lightly for a moment before offering a small, secretive smile.

"Well then, Simon, I believe it is time that this _intricate _game was explained to us. By the man whom set the pieces and made the first move himself..." He trailed off...

Simon smiled.

"Yes, we will meet Curt Connors shortly."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Curt sighed lightly.

His new prosthetic arm was nowhere near as god as the real one he'd lost, but he supposed it would do. The newly polished light metal seemed to gleam beneath the glare of the light above as he moved the entire long, strong, limb, stretching it forwards and backwards and then again- repeating the exercise several times. Each complex, differing thin, lengthy, coloured wire of the brand-new console was tied to a different nerve in his body- allowing the entire contraption to function properly. It really did feel good to have more than one regularly working arm.

Considering this one was definitely stronger too, and it also didn't take much energy to control, so everything was good. He'd managed to get it from one of his 'contacts', seeing as he couldn't do much without the much needed limb.

He snapped out of his thoughts, however, as the old telephone he'd found in the building rang in the next room. Huh, he thought. How curious, he didn't even know it actually still worked. Pulling himself together, he rushed from the small, dingy room he was currently in, and through the squashy dirty corridor, towards the other room with the old ringing phone.

Hurriedly jogging to the other side, his real arm flew to the antique phone and picked it up. He didn't say anything though, because he'd just remembered he was supposed to be here to begin with. Running a tongue over his teeth, he paid close attention to the noise on the other side before a voice spoke.

"Doctor Connors?" It was Gwen. Sighing in relief he was about to answer- before something stopped him. It was a single straying thought.

_I never gave either Peter or Gwen this number._

He tensed and his metal fingers curled tightly. He had never given _anyone _this number, heck, even _he _didn't know what the number was. Something was so wrong, so _off, _this wasn't Gwen. This definitely wasn't her. But then...

They had found him.

They knew where he was.

Panic suddenly began to flow through every corner of his chest. He couldn't help the quiet gasp that passed through his lips. Immediately, he slammed the phone down with excessive force onto its matching receiver.

He knew it. Damn it- it must be true.

He hadn't told anyone about those men- not even Peter or Gwen. But somehow they had discovered his location, and they were going to hunt him down, heck they probably already were. _Oh _god, his mind was frantic with thoughts of death and dying. They were going to come here, that call was only a short verification- it must have been. How could he have been so _stupid_? How could he have answered the phone when no one actually knew the number? They were probably already on their way.

And then another thought hit.

The person on the phone had probably tried to trick him into believing he was Gwen to stall time. But that meant he knew that Connors had been associated with her. That meant they knew who Gwen was, that meant that they had seen her, known her, _approached_ her. That meant she was in danger.

_Oh god._

This couldn't be happening. They must have been spying. That meant they probably knew about Peter. What if they knew his secret? What if they knew he was Spider-Man? What if that meant they were after him too? What if they _already _had him? This was horrible, absolutely freakin' dreadful. Yes this was certainly not good.

Then the knock at the door came, ringing and reverberating throughout the whole old building lightly yet loudly. There was no denying.

They believed he still had it.

Peter- Gwen, they were in danger now, he had to contact them. He had to reach them somehow, to give them a message, they had to know. They had a right, he had to explain _everything. _Nothing, absolutely _nothing_, no words, or sentences, or phrases could describe the worry and desperation he was feeling right now. They had to be told. He would probably never live to see the next sunrise, but he couldn't leave them to pick up all the broken, shattered pieces. He knew this was going to happen- that this organisation was going to find them- but he didn't know they were going to find him this _soon. _

They hadn't found him this soon before, so why now? What changed? Everything was such a mess. He barely though about his movements, barely registering picking up a random pen or pencil- right now he couldn't tell which- and grabbing the nearest piece of paper. His hand shook slightly as letters began to form on the old page, explaining everything he could at that moment.

They were coming for him right now; the knock became louder and more brutal. He could hear the door downstairs crashing off its hinges, loud footsteps bouncing off the stairs.

In as few seconds as possible, he finished his rushed note and messily and quite unevenly folded the paper, before turning his head up slightly and shoving it beneath an old brown lamp that he'd doubted would work. They would find the note, he reassured himself, and they would know everything.

That was his finally thought before rough arms grabbed him from behind and darkness was all he knew.

**What did you think? Sorry if it's confusing or bad and short. Please tell me what you thought. Thank you.**

**Here's an internet cookie.**

**~X. Rose**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hullo! Next update here! Got it up as quickly as I could**

**Reviews? Tell me what you think^^**

Simon looked at their guest with a hint of a smile. The man slumped on the large, fancy chair before him was still unconscious- as he was expected to be. His master sitting on the opposing side of the desk, with an equally magnificent throne like chair only watched as the man continued to wonder in the ignorant realm of dark nothingness. It hadn't been hard getting his captive here, though he couldn't exactly say it had been easy.

That was only because when he had gone to 'visit' Connors in his 'home', he hadn't been aware of the brand new contraption he had gotten. Strong and sturdy, made of the finest metal, it served as the much needed limb the doctor had lost long ago. Even Simon had to admire the strength it offered- as it was far more useful that a regular weak arm with breakable bones and flesh too soft.

It didn't hinder him though. Not much, anyway. When he had knocked on the run down door of the old building, he had- to some extent- expected to be answered. But instead, he had been forced to break down the wooden frame and barge in there- which was definitely not the manner in which he generally wished to perform his duties. No, generally he preferred something quick and efficient, something which would occur in the blink of an eye yet bear disastrous consequences.

He had also taken precautions, using one of the more developed experiments to echo the voice of Gwen Stacy, whom was now known to be associated with Curt. But for some reason Connors had ended up slamming the phone onto the server and hanging up.

There was no way, Simon knew, that Curt Connors could have known they were after him. What his Lord did not want anyone to know, no one _would_ know. That resulted in Simon's second working theory which escalated from the first. The other organisation which wanted something from Connors was searching for him, and perhaps the doctor thought that that was who had come to 'take' him.

But- Simon thought, that would mean that Connors either wasn't aware that the Parker boy was within their clutches, or that he had so little faith and believe that the young teenager had 'sold him out'.

His master shifted slightly and Simon's head snapped up. He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on the man- men- in question. From the unconscious and unaware form of Doctor Curt Connors and former Lizard to the superior man leaning back on his chair and surveying the scene with a growing feeling of curiosity.

"Simon." He suddenly spoke up, with a strange tone to his quiet yet somehow threatening tone. Simon lifted his head slightly.

"Sir?" He asked, and waited for a moment as the other, older man collected his thoughts.

"Suppose Curt Connors awakes and is completely willing to answer all our questions honestly if we say, _promise_ to repay him with _certain _information revolving around the whereabouts of a _particular _missing high school student, what do you suppose should occur then?" His voice slithered across the room like the echoing hiss of a snake and left an undeniable silence. Simon considered his options for a moment.

His Lord didn't regularly or ordinarily ask for his input, but when he did, it was for a significant reason. He knew his next words would affect the situation at hand, so he took another moment to think and debate within his mind before-

_Kill him._

The voice was back. It was back and it was just so _loud _and it remained there even after its short words were spoken. He didn't need its influence now. Not now of all times. He wanted to yell at it- to scream at it to go _away._ But he knew that wouldn't help anyway. Once the voice came, he couldn't make it leave- it would only leave on its own accord. He forced calmness to seep into his veins and did his best to gather his ideas.

_And the boy. The boy is Spider-Man; he must be dealt with..._

Shut up- he wanted to tell it- before the idea struck him.

"My Lord," he was gazed at curiously, "if- that slim unbelievable chance of the boy being Spider-Man is true, do you suppose Connor knows?" He shouldn't have done that, he had long understood that it was disrespectful to answer his Lord's question with a countering question of his own, but the words had slipped from in between his thin lips before he could take any measures to hinder or better- stop them.

The older man didn't seem to take offence though, and merrily thought to himself. A light look of discovery lit his irises, and it would have seemed like a small child on Christmas had it not been for the eeriness of the entire predicament and the man himself.

"Brilliant..." He spoke slowly, "So if- per-se, Connors is _aware_ that Peter is _Spider-Man_, and if per-se _he is _the masked 'vigilante...'" A short close lipped smile etched itself onto the man's faced, "Then Simon, we have stumbled upon a web of tangled mysteries and scandals far _larger_ and more _intricate_ than we could have ever hoped..."

And Curt Connors began to stir.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Once he was alone, Peter sighed in a great deal of gratitude.

Well of he could really call it sighing. It was more of an audible grimace. Or a groan. Or something of a light noise filled with pain and agony. But he couldn't really help it- the thankfulness and relief that overcame him once the immediate pain ceased. When he couldn't feel the knives slicing into his flesh or the needles stabbing into his arms. Oh how he missed this feeling, when his first instant reaction hadn't been to scream from the suffering.

Now that he really thought about it, it really had been a long time- well really; it _felt _like such a long time- since he'd been able to take a proper breath without the casual shudder or violent grimace raking his tired body.

He did his best to control his shaky, erratic breaths and to simply _calm _down. Once the light shaking and trembling had ceased slightly, Peter began to concentrate. His vision was still to some extent blurred around the edges, though after a few short seconds, everything was clear again.

He wasn't sure if his eyes had ever been closed, but suddenly it was like they'd only just opened. He was still shackled to the metal chair and it was just as uncomfortable as it had ever been. The room lighting hadn't changed, if it was possible it had gotten darker than it had been previously. The door on the other side was still bolted shut, though Peter knew it was only a matter of time before it would creak open and reveal 'his reckoning'.

He pulled lightly on the shackles around his wrists and immediately realised what a mistake that was. Both his wrists instantly flared a burning fire-like sensation and his gasped, slumped forward. Great, he thought miserably, but on the bright side- he knew they weren't broken. He'd felt broken bones before, and thankfully, this wasn't what they felt like.

It didn't mean they didn't hurt like hell, though.

Well, he supposed that meant his older injuries had healed- well mostly. The bruises he'd received from Wells around his neck had mostly subsided, because he could mostly breathe fine right now. His leg though, where Malice's claws had pierced his artery still stung, and despite the stitches, he could fell a light trickle of blood stream from the wound.

He tried to ignore that annoying factor though, and did his best to concentrate on other things. Most injuries inflicted by Michaelis's men were meant to cause maximum agony but they weren't life threatening.

Well, most of them weren't. He doubted the goons would recognise life-threatening if it punched them in the face.

The bones in his right knee were probably crushed, but he couldn't really tell at this moment, since he was still in the stage of the brilliant moments of numbness in his most painful wounds. The slashes on his arms weren't something to worry about either, since he'd doubted they were deep enough to go septic. There was a growing purple bruise on his left cheek as well, though he'd decided it was best to forget where all of those came from. There were too many to count, anyway.

The little- big- drummer happily drumming away in his head had taken to putting the volume down, which was in some cases both a good thing and a bad thing. Both for the same reason, because now it meant he could utilise those honest, free moments of alone time and consider his situation.

So, they knew he was Spider-Man. Huh. It was a strange concept really. A lot of people seemed to know his secret, alter-ego identity these days. How bothersome. He'd come to the conclusion that Wells had told them. Wells, the same man he'd _killed. _It was strange- saying he'd killed someone. Admitting he'd taken a human- well, maybe not _completely _human- but a life nonetheless.

It was suddenly as if the real realisation struck him like an unstoppable train going on higher than full speed. He'd really _killed_, _murder_ someone. He couldn't really justify his actions- and really it hadn't been his intention to begin with. None of it had. But the man attacked him; he had tried to kill him himself. Didn't that count for something?

It still didn't make Peter feel any less guilty.

That was stupid, because he knew he shouldn't. But maybe that was just him being in denial. Maybe it was really his fault. He _did_ kill him. A real person. A human being.

_Oh God._

That was suddenly so real. He didn't really ever have time to consider everything- or anything, really. With the running, and the people after him, and _Simon- he hadn't really had time to think about Simon, _the kidnapping, Doctor Connors-

Oh yes, this was about the doctor, wasn't it?

He remembered- vaguely- refusing to answer Chuckie's question about Connor's location. He'd suddenly remembered the look on his face the other man had gotten. The game when he'd so easily told him his name. But what _did _this have to do with Connors? As far as Peter was concerned, he'd only gotten out of prison, gotten himself a place to reside in for the time being, and saved his life. He wouldn't intentionally _lie _to Peter, would he? After all they had been through; he wouldn't just hide something that could- _would_- have the potential to get him killed?

_But what if..._

He sighed in irritation. He should be concentrating on getting out of here- out of this torture chamber, not reminiscing about truths and lies and the dead. He pulled lightly on his wrists again, careful not to do any further harm. They only stung this time, and he knew they would heal well within the next few days depending on how bad they had gotten.

The chains were metal and he knew that he'd never be able to break them. But, he thought to himself, there was blood running down his arms from the cuts, what if...

He pushed back slightly, and the crimson liquid leaking from the wounds on his arms streamed down his skin in a quicker manner. It hurt like hell, but he forced himself to concentrate. He could feel the slow dribbles of blood reaching his palm and forced himself to wait as more trickled down. This was crazy, and he didn't even know if it would work- but he at least had to _try. _

Like oil, he thought. The slashes began to burn but he had to remind himself that this was the only way. When it seemed like he was taking too long with the waiting, he pulled his hands slowly upwards, but still- as he expected- the chains were too tight. Forcing a deep breath, he rolled his shoulder and grimaced- but stopped a shudder as the knife wounds began to open again.

Now his arms were soaked in the red thick liquid, though he tried his best not to think about it. He didn't need to become nauseated right now. Finally, after a few long moments, his palms were slick with blood, and he clenched his fingers together before tugging.

The chains loosed- _thankfully- _down his hands, but stopped at the knuckle of his left thumb. He knew suddenly- as he realised his Spider senses were telling him- that that was the only obstacle in the way of his getting out of the chains.

_Damn it._

He tried tugging again, but all he got in return was a sudden stinging pain on his arms.

Okay, he told himself. He'd only seen this in movies, and he'd never tried it before. He'd never done anything like this. Never. But somehow, something- probably his Spider senses- told him what he had to do. What had to be done. He knew it was an insane idea, but his determination to escape this hell-hole never did falter. He was going to do this. How? He didn't know. But he was. He poised his fingers together, his middle finger at the edge of the knuckle of his thumb. His other thumb was pushed against his nail as he breathed in and hoped to heck that his insane plan would work. Not like he hadn't done crazier things. But really, this was new.

Ah well. There was a first time for everything.

And with that he pushed with all his might against his thumb, just as his Spider senses had somehow told him to. There was a loud, echoing, undeniable cracking sound that filled the air, followed by the sound of clenching teeth. He closed his eyes tightly as the aftermath of the dislocation of his thumb pounced on him. He breathed hard for a few moments before swallowing, and forcing his mind to work again.

This better work, he thought miserably. Slowly- very, very slowly- he pulled his hands upwards and from the chains.

And they came free.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The first thing Connors was aware of was the light. It streamed in from the large window on the other side of the room.

Huh, he didn't remember falling asleep here.

Then, as he began to collect his thoughts, he remembered he never had. The memory of knowing they were coming after him- the knocking down of the door- the loud, angry footsteps- the rough hold- the-

He gasped. It was as if he was simply seeing everything now. He was sitting on a large throne like chair facing a desk. He sat up right and attempted to move his arms and found that they were strangely- untied. As his vision completely came back to him from the darkness, he found himself looking into the eyes of a man.

He was tall and well built. He had short jet-black hair and a light scar running down on of his onyx eyes. He wore a pitch black tailored suit and smiled.

Huh. This was certainly not who he had been expecting.

His eyes were wide as a single moment passed. That was when he noticed the other figure. Standing nearby the desk, facing him. The other man was younger, and had dark neat hair and sharp intelligent blue eyes. He was dressed just as astutely. Connors didn't say anything for a short while. He merrily waited as his kidnapper's eyes surveyed him with a seeming growing curiosity.

Finally, as he collected his thoughts and quickly but thoroughly and carefully examined his surroundings, he realised something really wasn't right. Sand it wasn't that he was kidnapped, no he had expected that much and it was just that the kidnappers weren't exactly the people he had anticipated.

The people he had actually predicted to come after him were ruthless and dangerous and didn't care much for his comfort. They- well he didn't think- kept their prisoners in fancy posh offices with city-sky views and throne-like chairs. They also tended to have weapons and used chains and hand cuffs and were threatening more often than not.

"Who are you?" He finally summed up his voice and forced his lips to work. The man- the more superior seeming man- only gazed at him with an amused look. Curt fixed his best glare and shifted, though didn't get up. He wasn't going to leave until he got some answers. Clearly these weren't the same people he'd been in association with, but that didn't make them any less dangerous. In fact, their carless yet calm and collected actions and auras somehow made them even more so threatening.

"You don't seem to be surprised that you've been kidnapped, Doctor." The man sitting down smiled at him lightly. Curt decided he sounded like a snake. He clenched his metal fingers lightly before letting them go. Somehow that slight movement seemed to calm his nerves down a bit.

"Who _are_ you?" The Doctor pressed, refusing- and partly, well m_ostly _ignored the question directed towards him. He fixed his best threatening- well he certainly hoped it was- towards either man.

The standing man stepped forth slowly, and Connors turned his attention to him at the abrupt and swift movement. Their eyes met for a single moment, and the standing man's orbs flashed crimson.

It was so sudden that he almost didn't notice it. It was a strange feeling- a strong emotion- of dread. Of dread and not fear, no, not trepidation, only... tragedy. Like a sensation of calamity and misfortune, and it began to crawl deep into his veins, like it was travelling along his bloodstream. And it flowed, flowed quickly- quicker than the darkened blood keeping him alive- and it washed over him. It gripped at his chest and thrust into his heart, _blackening_ everything. Destroying his hopes, his dreams, his wishes and faith. He couldn't describe it, but it was there. It was there and it made him freeze, unable to understand or comprehend the instantaneous feeling of depression and pure, _pure_ misery.

And then, in a moment sooner than which it had first begun, it was over.

He gasped loudly, and leaned in. His eyes were wide as he searched for answers in the eyes of the seemingly unfazed men. He took a few deep breaths, both his metal and natural arms gripping the cushioned handles of the oversized chair tightly.

"What did you do to me?" His tone of voice was short and out of breath, he exhaled lightly after every word.

The man who had crimson eyes previously simply stepped back. He didn't seem to- unlike Connors- find anything strange with the sudden occurrence. Even, he rather seemed bored.

"Simon-" The man sitting down began to speak, and motioned slightly to 'Simon' as he did so, "merrily opened the gate ways to your mind and manipulated your emotions." His voice was quiet yet reverberated loudly and skin between the walls in the large confines of the office.

"What do you want with me?" Connors asked, doing his best to get the gears in his mind working. He'd suddenly felt so tired it practically hurt. Instantly he could only feel drained, physically and emotionally.

A thought hit him.

They were like the people whom had been after Peter. Maybe they knew something. Maybe they _were _those people. He gritted his teeth and focused. Did this mean that Peter was in danger? What about Gwen? But then, why would they want Connors himself? Did they know about the 'device'? But... a feeling of fear began to surface, and this time Connors knew it was natural. What if they were after Peter and Gwen _because _of it?

He noticed a pause had emitted as he began to collect his thoughts. He tried to focus on his captors again, but the thought of either- or both- Peter and Gwen being in such dangerous trouble because of him was almost too much to bear. He clenched his fists even tighter around the arms of the chair and leaned back, waiting for the answer- and doing his best to seem the opposite of taken aback or fazed.

"Mr- or should I say _Doctor_ Connors" the man opposing him leaned back to, though his posture was much less tense, "you _are _in association with a certain organisation, are you not?" They knew. That much was at least obvious to Connors.

"I'm afraid you have to be more specific." Connors was at wonder at how he had kept his voice smooth and without cracking. He didn't say anything more and only waited, deciding it was his best bet if he wanted to find out _anything_ about what was going on.

The man- the more superior- only let out a short chuckle. It fashioned a collection of shivers which ran down his spine. He attempted to remain neutral and forget about how much of a snake that certain obvious light noise sounded like. He tried to ignore the curious gaze of 'Simon' who had taken to watching him. Just watching. Not doing much else. It made Connors feel like the standing figure was gazing- staring- into his soul. Like he was suddenly going to grown talons and lunge at him and rip his heart through his chest before he could take his next breath. Before he could get answers for the mystery he had been thrust into.

"Well then, let me be." A short particularly defining pause passed. "You are involved with a certain organisation that was after a particular device you are in possession of, and have attempted to track you down- though without luck, thus they have gotten hold of the next best thing- Peter Parker."

Connors froze. He didn't do anything- he just stared into the cruel, amused eyes of the other man whom had only just spoken. His blood ran cold and he was almost convinced it was too frozen to flow through his veins anymore. That couldn't be true. They had found Peter. They had Peter. Peter was gone.

He knew them, they were merciless. They were pitiless, malicious and vindictive. They were willing to do anything to attain what they wanted- and when they could not get it through a straightforward method; they tended to go to far more extreme measures.

Measures surrounding torture and pain and agony and kidnapping. And in most cases, killing and death. And now they had Peter. And now he was who knows where within their clutches, and Connors didn't doubt there would be pain. And he was there, suffering, because of him. It was his fault. All of it. He had gotten Peter into this mess to begin with- heck, he had almost killed him once, and he had had every intention to.

His eyes must have been as wide as saucers, because the man whom had just confirmed his worst fears simply laughed. But Connors couldn't find it in himself to care about the man, or about Simon anymore. But he knew that they had taken him for a reason. They had mentioned the other organisation for a reason. They had told him of Peter's capture for a reason.

"What do you want?" He couldn't stop his voice from breaking at the end.

"We want to make a deal with you." The reply was simply, and the doctor almost jumped at the offer. But he knew he had to be careful. A new sense of determination filled him and he managed to straighten up slightly. He motioned with his right hand for the man to continue. "We will give you the location of Peter Parker on one condition, but you must agree to the deal before hearing of it- and you must also supply us of the answer before our part of this transaction."

Well that certainly sounded legitimate.

"Yes- yes anything, just tell me where Peter is!" He didn't hesitate, but honestly- he couldn't help it. Neither did he care. He just wanted- needed- to know.

"You must answer all our questions truthfully..." He trailed of before adding-

"You must give us the device."

And only then did Connors realise what a major mistake he had just made.

**BAMBAMABAM! Evil cliff-hanger. I think- well, I hope :):)**

**What did you think?**

**R&R for another coooookie?**

**~X. Rose**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello! Been **_**really **_**busy, so sorry for the late update, but here's the next chapter! Read and Review for faster writing? Enjoy~**

**Warning: I think this chapter is much darker than the rest, but this'll be as bad as it gets. It isn't too descriptive or anything, so no worries. :)**

Gwen watched silently as the new maths teacher passed her. Completely not noticing her hidden presence, just slipping past her like a soft forgettable breeze, as if she were nothing more than a mere passing shadow. Non-recognisable, unknown, _not there_.

Which was exactly how she wanted it.

To be unseen, to hide, to get out of this as quickly as possible.

What _did _she want to get out of? Did she want to get out of school, past the racing students with large backpacks and thick books? Past the concerned and strict teachers? Past the committee official who had just taken a seat and began to survey the videos from a nights and nights ago?

Or maybe the police officer who stood by the door waiting patiently as the young man tapping nervously and furiously along the keyboard gave him the correct surveillance tape. The one of the afternoon of the murder. The one of Peter hurrying out of the building with bruises and pain etched onto his features.

The one she had just stolen.

And she would have been gone by now, for that matter. She would, she _should_, have been walking as quickly yet as inconspicuously as possible away from the school as she took her break, the tape secured safely in her purse, with absolutely no evidence left to lead back to Peter.

Except she wasn't. Rather she was stuck in the back closet, peeking between the thin crack of the separation of wooden doors. Holding her breath, unable to move, clutching the evidence tightly within her hands. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought about how this should have went from the beginning. It was supposed to be a quick onetime thing. Unlock the door with her committee issued key, scan through the files, take the tape from the camera, leave and lock the door behind her.

No one was supposed to know she had even gone into the building.

But as usual, things didn't go as planned. A police officer showed up out of practically nowhere and demanded access to all footage from that day. If she hadn't heard the loud, echoing footsteps outside the door and the light casual talk between Matthew Simmons- the committee leader- and the officer whose voice she could easily now recognise- Mark Daemon- she would have been caught red-handed.

She thanked grace for her quick thinking and for the thin wardrobe that had been temporarily placed at the back of the surveillance room.

Forcing herself not to breathe too loudly, she concentrated on staying still. Of course what didn't help were the facts that her slim build barely fit in the cupboard, as well as her heart pounded so noisily in her chest she almost missed the said words of the other two people outside.

She calmed herself down, _think of Peter, think of Peter, _and eventually she managed to. Her ears finally began to comprehend the spoken words reverberated throughout the small room.

"Can you do this any _faster_?" Daemon demanded of Simmons, who continued typing furiously at the flat keyboard.

Simmons sent him an irritated look. "I'm _trying_, but this thing's telling me the footage is gone..." He trailed off unsurely.

"What do you mean, _gone_?" Daemon sent him a disbelieving look, "How can it just be _gone_?" Gwen could hear the annoyance quickly seeping into his tone. _Well he's certainly bitter this morning, _Gwen thought quietly to herself, still peeking through the gap though making sure not to move too much.

She watched as Simmons turned towards him and glared, throwing his arms up in the air dramatically, a little _too _dramatically Gwen thought, but decided it would be best if she kept her thoughts to herself.

"Why don't _you _try it!?" The younger man snarled. Gwen almost sighed in quiet laughter, Simmons never liked to be rushed, and usually got over melodramatic when it came to the smallest things- she had learned that the hard way. Daemon shot him a look and gritted his teeth.

"Don't mock me, boy- I can have you arrested and in a cell so fast it'll make your head spin!"

Well that escalated quickly.

Gwen couldn't understand why the police office was acting like this, and she momentarily wondered what had left him in such a mad and bitter mood. When she had seen him at Peter's house, and he and his partner had interrogated her and Aunt May, he seemed pleasant enough to her. His disdain toward Peter was rather obvious, but generally he seemed fairly fine. Now though, his anger literally radiated off of him, like a surrounding red fiery aura.

Whatever had annoyed him had certainly done its job well. She could easily note- not understand, only _see- _his rising infuriated anger radiating off his person and surrounding him, like a deep, thick bubble of clear seething red. Her irises followed his strong-built figure as he moved towards Matt and raised a fist lightly. She could see the many gears working in his head, forcing his body to calm down and not hit Simmons.

Which itself was a hard job, and she knew that well enough. She knew that the older teenager could be the most infuriating eighteen year old at the worst times, and sometimes his seemingly unlimited power of creating annoyance just made whoever was around him just want to slam him hard upside the head.

But as bothersome as the young man could be, she knew his behaviour now was normal, and it wasn't something someone should get so mad over. So really, it was only too clear that whatever triggered Daemon's anger had been surfacing and resurfacing for some time now.

She held her breath even more and pushed back the evident panic growing gradually at the pit of her stomach at for one single second- Daemon's eyes trailed over to the wardrobe where she was hiding. She closed her eyes slowly and didn't dare move and inch. A single breath and she would be found out, red handed- girlfriend of the main suspect with the missing evidence in hand.

Yes, it would indeed not look good.

And she knew that if something _did_ in fact happen, and she was seen, that she wouldn't be able to get out of it. Just because Daemon had offered her sympathy because of her father's death, it certainly didn't mean he'd turn a blind eye if he saw her hiding now.

"Fine, fine- jeez! I'll only be a second!" Simmons yelled, but Gwen could hear the shake in his voice. The very light trembling of his fingers as he typed furiously at the keyboard, head down and back hunched. She couldn't see his face from where she was, but she was sure that if she could that his eyes would be wide and fearful. Clearly Simmons was a smart enough bloke to realise it would be in his best interest not to annoy or anger already annoyed and angry cops.

Daemons seemed to relax slightly at this, but his posture was still ever so tense and stoic as he stood over the young man's shoulder, staring from a short distance at what occurred on the bright computer screen before them.

"I don't understand..." Simmons mumbled, and tapped at the small black keys faster and at a more panicky pace. He stopped for a moment and finally raised his head, before typing a few more buttons, then halting once more. "But, but- that's not right..."

"What's not right?" Daemon asked- his voice tight and hard. He glared at the back of the teenager's head, who by now had completely removed his fingers from the slick keyboard of the computer, and stared at the screen with what Gwen assumed would be a dumbstruck expression.

"Bu it should've been here! God, I swear!" he swivelled around on the computer wheel chair and faced the chief of police. Gwen could see the fear and deep and utter confusion in his eyes. He must have just figured out that the tape he was looking for was missing.

"What do you _mean_ it's not _there_?" The police officer waved his hands around frantically, anger streaming quickly into his confused tone. Gwen made sure not to move an inch.

"It's just gone, not there, absolutely _flippin'_ gone!" Matt replied angrily, the nervous twitch of his fingers and fear in his eyes quickly disappearing. He was becoming just as infuriated as the older man, and though Gwen and he weren't the best of friends, she could sympathise with him. A strange but very, _very _small feeling of guilt erupted at the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it down forcefully. She knew nothing more than a yelling match and empty threats would be taking place.

The chief police officer was silent for a few moments. He didn't say anything; rather, he took to glaring at the younger man. After another few seconds, Gwen thought they were having some sort of staring competition, but soon realised that the officer's look wasn't fixated on Simmons, but the screen behind him.

There was a screen in the corner, and it seemed to be where the chief's attention was fixed. Gwen could make out a blurry shape from this distance, but after concentrating harder, she realised just who that blurry shape was. It was Casey. Walking up a set of stairs with some of her friends- one of who Gwen recognised as Dean. The teenagers bounded up the steps and disappeared from the surveillance camera, no doubt reappearing in another one.

But the older man was no longer staring at the screen. His complete and full attention seemed to now be claimed by Simmons. He looked tense yet weary from where Gwen stood hidden. He moved a single step backwards and offered Simmons a look.

"I want that surveillance tape to be handed into the police station as soon as it's found. And Simmons," he paused for a moment, before taking a few more steps toward the door, "you _will _find it."

The last few words he spoke made both Gwen and Simmons shiver uncontrollably. There was an underlying hint of a silent threat lingering within that lasting sentence, but no one pointed it out. The tone of voice in which it was said was quiet yet rather scary, especially for someone who had the authority to potentially ruin your entire life with a few decisions and favours. That was enough to shake anybody up.

_Maybe not Peter..._

A quiet voice at the back of Gwen's head spoke up. She momentarily thought about her lost- kidnapped- boyfriend , and wondered how he was doing, where he was, if he was okay, if he was hurt or... or worse. But she refused to believe that something happened to take him- permanently- away from her. She had lost enough people she loved in her life already, and Peter Parker was certainly not going to be one of them.

No, because he had promised her. Only hours after that fatal moment when he had said to her that the best promises are the ones that were best broken. He had sworn he would never _ever_ leave her again. And she trusted him, and she _believed_ him. Whatever damned deceiving web of lies and treachery and pain they had been thrust and tangled into, they would get out of. They would be fine in the end, and she knew that for certain. For sure. In fact, there was nothing else in the world she was more sure of.

He would be fine, and she would be fine, and maybe it would take them awhile to recover from what she knew had to be only the beginning of something so much bigger- and _worse- _but they would walk through the raging storms and they would end up safely- maybe slightly hurt, but nothing time wouldn't fix- on the other side, where the sun would shine again.

As long as they were together.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter didn't even have time to commend himself on his good work. Heck, he barely had time to register the fact that the chains were no longer wrapped tightly around his bruised and bloodied wrists. Really, everything just sort of happened in one big rush.

Just as the metal links were released from around his pale fresh, and just as they dropped like heavy stone onto the dirty concrete floor, and just before Peter was able to allow a light thankful sigh and collect his thoughts, the door creaked.

He didn't even freeze, but acted quickly. His thumb still radiated excruciating pain, but he gritted his teeth hard and forced himself to act. He leaned back as much as he could with his back to the chair, and swiped his good hand down to get a hold of the chains just as they brushed up against the stained and blighted ground.

He bit his lip so hard it drew blood, and- grudgingly- slipped the cuffs back onto his wrists, leaving his dislocated thumb as it was.

He did his best to ignore the hurriedly growing pain nagging in his fingers, but knew this was the best course of action to take. If he left his hands free, there was absolutely no way he could leave, because he was certain that there were more than two people on the other side of that door- including Michaelis.

Because Michaelis was sure to come back- to taunt him, to make sure he regretted his decision of not cooperating to their 'game' properly. And he'd obviously bring his lackeys. They would all be burly and with weapons, and he knew for sure that Michaelis wasn't completely human, so that would dampen his chances of escape. He would wait until Michaelis was gone again before he would make- attempt- his escape.

He was unarmed, injured, and exhausted as hell. All he had on his side was the element of surprise. His thoughts wavered for a moment as he thought- what if he did get out of these cuffs? What difference would that make when he had no weapon, he was in terrible shape, _and _he was going against at least two people twice his size?

Super.

His thoughts however, escaped him as the door was opened, and as he'd predicted, emerging from the darkened shadows were Michaelis himself, and three more of his super-sized goons who liked like they'd been born off steroids. He forced himself to remain calm and tried not to touch his dislocated thumb or let any part of the metal brush against it.

Michaelis stepped in first, and offered him a smile.

A smile.

The _son of a bastard_ had him _tortured_ for _god knows how long_, and he comes into his _prison_, and offers him a _smile? _

At the end of this, Peter promised himself, he would wipe that god-damned smile of his stupid ugly zombie-fied face with a good, hard, solid punch to the face. Maybe that'll teach him to torture someone almost to death, then _smile_.

"Well, Peter, how have you been?"

Just freakin' great.

Peter tried to look as nonchalant as possible, trying to give away an air of carelessness and casualness. He didn't know whether he failed or not, but it was probably the former. He licked his dry lips before answering, "Nothing much. Just been chilling with my buddies, brut and ugly over there." He forced a smirk toward two of the bodyguards who stood behind Michaelis, immediately recognised them as his torturers.

One of them growled whilst the other tried to look as menacing as possible whilst being clueless. Peter doubted their pea-sized small brains could comprehend such big words like 'brut' and 'ugly'. Maybe he should've used something like 'dumb' and 'dumber'. Yeah, maybe their almost non-existent brains would be able to get that.

"Ha, ha, ha," Michaelis offered a painfully fake laugh and a snake-like smirk, "still got your sense of humour, do you boy?" He inched toward Peter, and Peter forced his heartbeat to slow down as he met Michaelis's eyes, flashing dangerously close to red and sending waves of panic he couldn't control into his nerves.

"Apparently so, but I guess Dumb and Dumber over there didn't get the joke." He decided on using the planned out names he had thought of. Dumb gritted his teeth, whilst Dumber released an animal like growl. The third goon didn't say or do anything, just simply stood there, whilst Michaelis only released another puff of air.

"How about we skip the pleasantries-" But before the older, painfully scarred man could continue, Peter didn't know why he did it, but he interrupted him.

"That's what you call pleasantries? Really?" He lifted an eyebrow and pursed his lips lightly, "Oh, and speaking of which, pleasantries- you really need to get your goons to work on their social skills. Maybe you should give them a lesson on becoming social butterflies- like you, rather than letting their fists to talk for them." He wondered if anyone had caught the bold sarcasm lacing his tone. He doubted the three lackeys behind Michaelis even knew what the word meant. Sarcasm, huh, he thought, seven letters too long, probably.

"Do you enjoy treading on the edge off death, Peter?" And something in his tone of voice sent chills down Peter's spine. But he wouldn't give up; he'd pull a few cards out of his pocket before this conversation ended with words and began with fists.

"Who said I was treading?" It was risky, what he said, how he spoke against Michaelis, the one man who could easily destroy him. Oh, it _was_ so very dangerous to flirt with the edge of destruction and chaos and everything that could break a man, but Peter sure as hell wasn't going to give up, not now, not ever.

The opposing man still standing near the open doorway chuckled, and began taking a few steps toward Peter himself. Peter fought with as much will as he could muster against just dropping the act and letting the cuffs fall from his wrists, and to just make a break for it.

But he knew he would never make it, not now at least. He had to take them by surprise, and he couldn't do it at this very moment- though he could admit that the site of the open door was very, _very_ tempting indeed. Michaelis stopped a few feet away from him and crouched so that he was almost at eye level with him, before speaking.

"No, you're very close to drowning."

It wasn't the words that made Peter shudder. It wasn't the fact that a shiver had just run down his spine. It wasn't the way Michaelis's eyes gleamed a grotesque shade of murky blood red either. No, rather, it was the way he _spoke _the words. The slithering venomous hissing reverberating into his voice, the dying darkness etched into the short number of words, the way his blood-red tongue flicked across his white lips and his pale teeth parted- for only a moment- to reveal what Peter could swear were fangs.

And then he met his cruel, cruel eyes.

And he tried to push down the panic, and the fear, and the seemingly never ending emotion of hopelessness that just screamed at him that he wasn't going to make it out of here. Alive anyway. And he didn't know whether what occurred next was Michaelis's doing or not, but sooner rather than later images filled his minds. They began with blood and gore and ended just the same. With Gwen finding his body in severed pieces, with his blood streaming in rivers as he lay on the concrete floor of a room he recognised- his body mangled and his eyes opened in a silent plea of dread and death. It was the same room he was in now.

He tried- he honestly did his best- to ignore all the horrible scenarios- and vivid, _god_, why did they have to be so damn _vivid? -_ pictures flowing through his head, Gwen's dead corpse lying in a darkened pool of blood, of his Aunt May silently screaming as a dagger pierced her flesh over and over again, as Uncle Ben being shot and bleeding to death in his arms.

_It's not real, it's not, it isn't. _He tried to tell himself over and over again, but his mind still fell in a flash drive- an autopilot of worry and dread and fear- for not himself, but those he loved. He attempted to remind himself that they were safe, that nothing would get to them, but doubt began to creep in from the far corners of his mind and clawed at the centre of his brain, serving as a reminder that they didn't have powers. He did, and he'd ended up this bad. So what if they _did_ have Aunt May? What if they _did _have Gwen? What if they were hurt? Kidnapped? Injured? Or... worse.

_No, don't think like that, don't think like that! _A little voice in his head yelled at him, but that yell was dimmed- though Peter fought to listen to it. But the images were still coming, and soon he couldn't even see Michaelis. Soon he was trapped in the prison of his own mind and he there- he was witnessing their murders. He could hear the ear piercing screams, the begs, the pleas, the tears, and the bangs of shots being fired. The stabs and slashes of blades piercing and cutting through flesh like a sharp, smooth knife through butter.

_It's not real, their safe, their safe! _He truthfully did his best to keep that small voice in his mind alive, the only voice that kept him linked through a thin chain- through a breaking _rope _to reality. But the pull was becoming stronger, and soon there was Gwen's family too. Her younger brothers, her mother, kneeling into her crimson pond blood that surrounded her from the stabs to her chest and wept. Their tears mixed in with the darkened blood and Peter found himself unable to look away from Gwen's eyes. They were open wide and they held fear. Her once beautiful golden blond hair was matted with blood and dirt and so were her clothes, and a few words echoed throughout the room that made his own blood freeze in his veins.

_It's your fault._

Maybe it was. Maybe he was to blame for this. Maybe it really _was _his fault. He'd already killed one person, what made this any different? What made the blood of the ones he loved on _his _hands any different from the blood of Wells?

_Not. Your. Fault._

But the voice that had tied him down was beginning to lessen, and lessen, and it began to slowly- quickly- quiet down. Peter could hear his own harsh, rugged, breathing echo over the blood pounding in his ears as he found himself trapped in darkness.

Part of him- a small, oh yes, a _very_ small part- knew that he was still in the call with the dirty concrete, without the windows, and with the large metal door, 'cuffed' down to a metal chair with Michaelis kneeling in front of him, making him see these images, showing him nothing but what wasn't real.

But that _really _was only a very _small _part.

_Snap out of it! Snap out of it!_

He was exhausted, he realised. There was suddenly a thudding ache etched deep into his bones that made him feel like he was a thousand years old. But he didn't know why, and he raised his raised, still in the room with Gwen's body and her weeping family. And suddenly, there was Aunt May.

Each bullet to her chest made him want to collapse, to die, and to fade into the dark nothingness and never wake up again. Her body fell beside Gwen's and blood began to bubble from her mouth like a fountain. She spoke a few dying words served within her final passing breaths.

_Your fault._

And the small voice in his head which had told him it _wasn't_ his fault, the voice which had been strong to begin with, then repeatedly _weakened, _before turning into a shadowy _echo_...

Became completely and utterly severed.

**Is it too OOC or did you like it? Again sorry for the late review, but TADA! PLEASE REVIEW. And tell me what you think^^**


	16. Chapter 16

**Next Chapter! Sorry if it's a bit late, been really busy. Read & Review! (Has not been edited, I'm SO SORRY)**

**Disclaimer: Don't own**

**All mistakes are me own! Argh me hearties! **

Michaelis stared in a strange sort of twisted fascination at the young teenager before him. Peter Parker had fallen unconscious, but not after an intense battle of the minds. Michaelis rarely felt someone fight as hard and strong as the boy had, and it surprised him. It surprised him and intrigued him at the exact same time. Because there was hardly anyone who'd ever put up such a fight, especially in the condition Peter was in.

For the first time in a long time, Michaelis was tired.

It usually- in normal cases, didn't take that much out of him. All he had to do was concentrate his mind's eye deeply into his prey's own. Then he would sift lightly through the surface of their minds, latching onto any of the latest memories of things that would affect the victim. In Peter's case, he had found images of a young elderly woman- who Michaelis knew was a sort of motherly figure- and a girl, who he assumed must have been some love interest.

Then he pictured their deaths. Brutal and painful and harsh, and he showed them to Peter. With the shock that came with seeing his loved one beaten and bloodied and dead before him, Peter had let his defences down for a moment. But a moment was all Michaelis had needed to insert that small silent yet loud and reverberating voice in the other's head that told him his nightmares were true. That it really was his fault.

But as Michaelis felt slightly short of breath, he realised how much he had fought just to get control over Peter's mind, and even more to send him into an abyss of dreaded, sad nightmarish oblivion. He knew he had to keep a better eye on the boy, because despite the fact that Michaelis was able to get him to bend to his fears, he was bound to awaken soon enough- probably with more will this time.

What got him, however, was how long it actually took to void the young teenager of all rational thought and plant his own images and 'creativity' into his head. Usually it would take not a few seconds, here however- it was more than a few minutes, almost reaching a point that Michaelis hadn't been prepared for.

Because yes, he could have used more power- more intensity, though he hadn't been prepared to, and for some strange reason that was. Why did he expect that Parker would bend to his will and give in to hell so easily? The lack of preparation left him more tired than usual, and had him feeling like he had only just run a mile non-stop.

He wouldn't underestimate the boy next time, he thought. And next time he wouldn't use all his power- because that would surely drive anyone mad with darkness and terror- but he would come close. Closer than he had this time, and he wouldn't just scratch or glaze over the surface of his memories, he would delve inside and discover more about him.

And now he was interested. More than interested actually- _intrigued. _He had also come across a light memory of a man call 'Uncle Ben' but hadn't held out long enough to find out more. But he would- soon enough. Maybe he'd keep Peter Parker longer, because now- he was curious. It wasn't just about Curt Connors anymore- though he would definitely get answers to those questions- rather it was about the curious case of Peter Parker.

He wasn't just 'high school student by day- vigilante by night- anymore. Now, Peter Parker was so much more.

He smile lightly to himself- yes, this would in fact be _interesting._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

When Peter awoke, he was alone.

The room was as dark and dreadful as it had been before- earlier- earlier, when _was_ earlier? He didn't know, and frankly- right about now, he didn't _care_. His mind refused to work as fast as his eyes as they slowly fluttered open and took in everything in the almost pitch black area.

Everything was exactly where it had been before, but he couldn't focus on that.

No, all he would remember were the images and memories of Gwen and his Aunt, dead or dying, and it was his fault. He knew they were fake, he knew that none of that had happened- and would _never _happen- but it didn't make the fear for their lives lessen any.

Trying to snap out of the horrible though raking through his mind's eye, he was brought back to earth when he noticed the sharp pain emitting everywhere. Particularly one of his knees, where he recalled believing that the bones had been crushed. He tried not to look down at the swollen purple bruised mass of pain that was sure to be there, covered by his jeans. A trickle of blood streamed down his shoulder and made him wince as even its light and smooth touch burned against the bruises varying across the arm it trailed down. His wrists were still raw and were sure to be an angry red- simply the thought made him wince involuntarily.

But wait- another pain that had only just come to him after those few seconds of realised donned itself upon him- his thumb. He then vaguely remembered what had happened before his terrible encounter with Michaelis- he had broken free of the chains by sliding his hands through them with slick blood and a dislocated thumb.

He had never been so thankful for an injury in his entire life.

He took a deep breath and looked around once more- just to make sure that no one was hiding anywhere in the shadows. Moments later, satisfied that he was alone, he lightly- well as lightly as he could possibly manage, he lifted his hands behind his back slightly and did his best to let the chains slip down his pale skin.

His breath hitched when the metal grazed over his thumb, but it was no time to be backing out now, so he tugged ever so slightly. A blinding pain erupted from his hand and he found himself slightly short of breath- believing that it wasn't this bad the first time.

But he realised that in his haste to return the chains back over his wrists before the metal door had creaked open- that he may have accidently gone a little too far and somehow the chains might have tightened. But that didn't matter too much now, because despite the entire process being ever so painful- it was working. The make-shift cuffs were sliding down and over his hands.

And finally they slid down completely- clanging down onto the hand concrete floor with an audible echo.

He sighed in relive and breathed out lightly, taking a moment to compose himself.

Now came the hard part- well, the _harder_- part. He braced himself as much as he could and slowly began to move his hands. Lifting them up he realised he was shaking, and mentally yelled at himself. _Get a grip, damn it! _And he tried his best to do so, forcing his blood slicked arms to rest on the sides of the chair as he waited a moment before he pushed himself up.

The first thing he noticed was the dizziness. And the obvious black spots dancing across his vision. But that didn't stop him.

No, he made himself stand up- before his knee flared to life angrily, and almost sent him collapsing to the floor.

He gasped as the crushed bones shifted and shuffled beneath his flesh and bit his lip as hard as possible- just keep himself from yelling out in agony. It was a few more seconds before he could slow down his breathing only very slightly, but when he did, and the pain in his knee was so intense that it began to numb down, and pushed himself even straighter into a proper standing position- whilst either of his hands held onto the chair for the support he surely needed.

Once he was up, he knew he could stay that way very long. So rather than making his way to the door, he week looked around the room and squinted into the darkness- knowing his next course of action needed to be a highly effective one.

_Come on, you can do this Parker, come on..._

Exhaling he scanned the room and for the first time he realised- thankfully- that it wasn't as empty as he had first predicted.

About three metres to his left there was boxes- random discarded old dusty boxes that couldn't be empty. He closed his eyes for a single moment before debating his options.

Really, he only had three. The first option was to just sit back down and enjoy the wonderful view of plain dirty grey concrete stained with his blood whilst waiting for his definite death, option two was to walk over to the giant metal door and try to fruitlessly find a way out whilst in immense pain, or option _three_- he would find something to bandage his knee with so that the bones would at least heal properly- and _then _try to fruitlessly find a way out whilst in immense pain.

Well, none of the options seemed particularly appealing, bit after about two nanoseconds of debate, he chose option three.

He didn't want to live without his bones setting properly, and to have a limp the rest of his life. Which might end in a matter of seconds itself.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Simon watched as Connor's eyes widened in surprise and dread, his entire form going rigid in the large throne-like chair he was seated in.

He could sense a strange mix of disbelief and denial radiating from the man, who had yet to say anything since his Master's announcement.

The doctor had only licked his lips once and allowed his eyes to flicker to the door before his orbs were overcome by a look of complete defiance. His lips were set in a thin line as his eyes hardened and he literally glared at Simon's lord, his well-known exterior from just a moment ago completely vanishing.

No, because just a moment ago he was nervous and confused and determined, though now- he was still determined, though also on edge and- was that anger Simon saw flare deep into his irises?

"No."

What?

The defiance was raw now, and ever so obvious. Simon tried not to be confused by the sudden change in demeanour. He focused solely on the doctor and did his best to interpret what was going on in his mind what gears were turning, which of his thoughts was splaying and telling him not to cooperate with them. His eyes gleamed red for only a nanosecond, maybe less, and yet it was evident that the certain emotions of frustration were not simply a trick of the mind.

"Doctor Connors, cooperating with us will help you find Peter, isn't that what you want?" His master's voice seemed soft and soothing, yet internally it was interested. Deeply, really interested- according to Simon's senses.

The doctor seemed to hesitate for a moment, just a single moment when all his emotions flashed across his features- the worry and concern, the panic- the anger, before it all disappeared once more and was replaced with a mask of neutralism.

"You don't understand what this weapon could do-" but he was interrupted, leaving Simon with only confused thoughts. What could be so bad that the man himself, Doctor Connors would not risk to find the boy he treated as a son himself? Just before he was so willing to do anything for the sake of Peter's safety- what on earth had changed?

"You see, _Doctor__**, **_I know exactly what this device is- and I know exactly what it does." His master spoke, and he could tell the older man was not bluffing. Simon could swear his master had never actually told him, which in a way surprised him. But not overly so.

The doctor let a few seconds pass without saying a single thing, only seemingly waiting patiently for his master to continue, just to see if he really was telling the truth- though Simon could tell he already knew the answer to that. The doctor only held onto the practically invisible thread of hope that proved that he really was wrong about his thoughts.

"You see, Doctor, I know that this weapon is what the Ganali device is based on." The doctor's breath hitched, and neither man failed to notice. "I know that it has the power to release an airborne product which it creates within its core." Another short pause. "And this certain product just happens to be a... _poison_ of sorts." He seemed to have heard enough, and the doctor gritted his teeth. "The poison has never been identified, and the manner of which it is released has never been studied- as it is released- not like the Ganali device surrounding a simple city, but an entire country twice the size of America itself."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

After Peter had made his wonderful plan to get to the other side of the room, he had commenced with it.

And really, right now he didn't know whether he regretted the escape plan or not. He had walked- hobbled, waddled, limped, whatever you call that action of dragging one's feet- over those two metres. And how painful they were- because with every step- drag, pull- he could feel his muscles straining, his cuts stinging, the crushed bones in his knee falling apart then shuffling back together again. He had blacked out a few times and almost fell four- or was it five? - times. But he had managed to make it- somehow. And somehow he had looked into the cardboard boxes and found exactly what he had been wishing for- bandages. Well really, he was more or so looking for rags or cloths, so his surprise when he found precisely what he needed was evident and imaginable.

From then it was really a long process of not passing out from the agony due to pure determination whilst wrapping layers and layers of bandages over his knee. It was painful and made him want to scream until he couldn't scream anymore. But he held it in and gritted his teeth to made sure that not a single sound erupted from his throat as he continued to tighten the fabric around the crushed bones.

After that particular traumatising process, he had waited a few minutes- simply standing there, balancing himself on his good leg, leaning onto the dirty wall behind him, just trying to catch his breath. After those several moments though- something came to him.

He had to do something about his thumb. If he didn't snap it back into place soon, who knew what could happen? It might even have a chance of healing worse than his knee. And he really didn't want that- because really, he was quite fond of his thumb.

It had taken him a moment to collect his discarded thoughts- it really was a lot harder than it actually sounded- but after he had done that, he had moved straight into action. And again, he'd only seen this particular action done by actors in various films, but he was Spider-Man, wasn't he? If anyone in the real world could manage this, it could be him, right?

So once again he braced himself and pushed onto the joint, forcing himself to clamp his mouth shut and grit his teeth as the bone snapped back into place.

He could see black spots dancing around his vision, and certain blurriness at the corners of his eyes. But that dizziness and tiredness was nothing compared to the relief emitting from his recently 'fixed' thumb. It no longer felt like it had been sinking into a steaming pot of hot liquid lava, though a particular ache began to echo from the bruised and abused joint.

Still, it was a lot better than what he had felt just before. And in that moment of strange delight, he had forgotten about the damn pain in his knee and hands and head and e_verywhere. _God, why couldn't it just all go away?

Once his breathing was controlled and proper again, he had licked his dry, cracked lips in determination and decided to get a move on. His leg was bandaged and his thumb was in place once more, and he had refused to risk wasting any more time- since he really didn't know when Michaelis himself or his big stupid goons would be returning.

And that was where he was at now. Well, maybe a little further than that stage- because he had successfully limped to the door and began inspecting it carefully.

He glanced at the bolted, large- too large, seemingly overwhelming metal door and let out an annoyed sigh. Taking in all the locks and keyholes and chains, he realised this was going to be much harder than he had thought before.

Because the metal door to his prison had seemed a lot let intricate when he had been bleeding half to death and concentrating on not getting himself murdered or tortured further by his captives. Now, in pain and desperate for an escape, he realised his mistake.

There must have been at least twenty locks on the damn thing- and looking in the boxes earlier told him that there was nothing that would help him open it. He shifted his gaze nervously around the all too dark room and considered his choices and chances.

Well he couldn't exactly open it, because he couldn't break it down or pick its many locks. That only left him with one option... something he really was trying his best to avoid.

He would have to wait them out. He would have to wait until someone opened the door from the other side, and _then _make a run for it.

It wasn't much of a plan, but then again, he was never really one for them anyway.

So Peter waited, arming himself with whatever he could find- being a sharp piece of wood. It wasn't particularly helpful, and left an awful lot of splinters in his hands, but it was his only hope of escape this hellhole.

So he wait as patient as he could be, and once he heard the chains being unlocked, his heart jumped to his throat. He waiting on one side of the door in the shadows, close into to make a run for it but not close enough to be seen from the shadows- when doubts began filing through his mind- some actually quite logical.

How on earth would he run on his leg? Bones crushed and bended, he couldn't limp two metres without almost blacking out. How the hell was he supposed outrun giant men with guns? What was he going to do, splinter them to death with his little wooden stick?

Good grief, for someone so smart, he really had his stupid moments.

But he couldn't think about that anymore, because the door creaked open- and he never thought twice before lunging.

**What did you think? Tell me if you have any ideas for which way this story should continue, and review to tell me what you thought!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Before you say anything, I'm sorry. Read the note at the bottom...**

Peter honestly didn't know what to expect. His ears were blurred of sound, and the only sense passing over him was of the blood rushing through his veins. His heart beat faster than he could comprehend; each pump of crimson liquid streaming through his body was matched with another harsh, nervous breath. He forced his hands to stop trembling from the overexertion and pain and trauma plaguing him not only physically but mentally. As he held on for that second, a thousand thoughts flooded his mind, and he wondered where he had gone wrong. He wondered when he had begun to find it easy to look at his own blood as it pooled between his fingers from a shot or a stab wound, and manage to smile and say something sarcastic. When he had stopped getting a solid eight hours of sleep and rest. When he hadn't had dark bruise like shadows beneath his eyes and such a sickly pale complexion. When he hadn't felt tired and exhausted and at the brink of collapsing. When he had started to grin and annoying his captors as they tortured him mentally and physically and attempted to crush his hopes, telling him that no one cared for him. That there was no one left.

When had being kidnapped and tortured endlessly become something he could wave off without a second thought, having enough determination to tread on a crushed kneecap, to dislocate his own thumb, to yield a bloody _wooden stick _against murderers and serial killers?

When had cold hearted sadistic killers become a part of his day-to-day life?

And yet he knew he could not bring himself to regret any of it. Not the pain or the aguish or agony of loss and trauma. And maybe that made him a little mad. Maybe his choosing to wear a suit of red and blue spandex seven days a week and swinging from building to building and becoming a 'vigilante' made him slightly less sane than everyone else, but then again where was the harm in that?

_Torture, capture, daily threat of death, flesh wounds, serious wounds, unnecessary wounds, torture, capture, daily threat of death, death, death, death, torture, capture, torture, torturetorturetorture-_

_That was a rhetorical question, thank-you very much. _

Great, lovely, bloody _fantastic_- now he was talking to himself- or _mind_ talking to himself- he was answering his own _rhetorical_ questions, for god's sake!

What the hell was 'mind' talking anyway?

And all of that took up that one precious second that he had to spare, before being faced with his enemy, his nemesis, his _one_. _Golden_. _Opportunity_.

And even with a mass of destroyed bones, a fading pain-tolerance, frayed nerves, and exhaustion, he was going to try.

Because if there was one thing in Peter's life and soul which hadn't changed or transformed, it was his determination and will. And it was something that he hoped wouldn't be disappearing or deteriorating in the indefinite future.

And if he could help it, he would have one. A bright, sunny one, when days came where he studied for that bothersome maths exam that he really _didn't_ have to study for- but Aunt May would insist, followed by finishing that science project he'd been procrastinating to avoid... and then by night, well, by night was another story all together.

One that would continue, despite this entire mess...

And then light flooded the darkened room, and then shadow of the perpetrator broke through the crack between the metal of the gate and the concrete of the wall, and with all the strength Peter could muster, with a hard bite of his lips and a tough swing of his arms, he brought his makeshift weapon down, leaving not a chance for the perpetrator, whom at that exact moment had poked his head in, and had it hit the side of the metal door as it ricochet of one hard surface and onto another- before the entire figure crumpled in a messy heap at the door with blood oozing out of one of his temples.

He hadn't even had time to widen his eyes in shock as he had noticed the empty room, obviously never expecting the badly injured, wounded and traumatised teenager to have enough strength to collect himself and perform such a deed.

Oh, how Peter loved his determination.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It wasn't long before Michaelis felt that something was wrong. It wasn't long before he felt a strong sensation pulsing through his veins that _told _him something was wrong. It wasn't long before he realised the man whom he had sent to 'check' on the boy, and torment him further whilst Michaelis reclaimed his thoughts, had taken slightly too long.

It wasn't strange for his henchmen to lose themselves in their sadistic pleasures and desires, but he had specifically warned them not to go too far with the boy. Only he was allowed to do so. And they listened; because they saw what had happened after one of them had crushed his knee. Not that Michaelis hadn't enjoyed in savouring those precious, agonised screams, but that _he_ should have been the one to cause them. _He_ should have been the one to cause Peter Parker to pale and scream for dear life, not _them_.

They had seen how the harshly severed parts of his body fit perfectly into the trash canister, how the dark blood had pulled over the edges and spilled onto the silver oversized can, and they had watched how his head hadn't quite fit in, so was left sticking out with mouth wide in a silent scream and only one eye.

Oh they knew not to cross him.

And besides, he had been quite fond of this particular goon, not that he had found them too important to learn and remember the names of, but this one had been efficient. It was a shame he would have to use the same means as- what was his name? Ernie? To end his life. Huh, Michaelis thought to himself, didn't this one have a family? Two children and a wife?

Ah well, if he was willing to do this to a teenager barely older than his own children, then maybe it was for the best. Yes, after all, it wasn't like those innocent souls were at guilt here.

He smiled to himself, walking through the maze like corridors of his labyrinth with a predatorily smile on his face, he would enjoy this. And while he was at it, why not make Peter watch? Yes, maybe he should. He knew the teen would be having an internal battle with himself as he watched one of his torturers have his limbs cut of whilst he was living, wanting to scream at Michaelis to stop, but forcing himself to stay as quiet as possible. Though he knew the boy had a 'good-heart' and would try to do something about the whole scenario...

He sighed and wondered what good having a heart did anybody these days, after all, his had frozen over and stopped a long time ago.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter had wasted no time.

Immediately, he had managed to somehow crouch without bending his injured knee, and his hands had riffled through the goon's pockets with ease and speed. He wasn't stupid, he knew that despite the fact they knew that they had the upper-hand; they wouldn't leave anything to chance... what good that did them.

Soon, Peter's long, thin fingers, caked with his own dried blood, and swollen from bruises- and _dislocations_- found exactly what they were looking for. As soon as the cold hard metal of the guard's gun touched his skin, Peter involuntarily shivered, but pulled the heavy weapon out of the folds of the fabric.

The revolver- somehow- with its black sleek and shiny metal, despite its heaviness, managed to fit comfortably in his palm. Holding onto it tightly- not really tightly, but as tightly as he could manage- he used- held in his other hand now- the piece of long chipped wood by pushing it against the dirty floor and forcing himself up.

The added weight on his knee made him grunt in pain, but that was ignored as he began to use the stick as some sort of make-shift cane and limped forth.

He had to admit, it had never been the best plan, not from the beginning when he had dislocated his thumb, not when he had brought the piece of wood down on the henchman's head, not when he had stolen his revolver- a weapon he had only fired once in his life- and not when he had begun limping, and realised that the setup of the torture asylum he was being kept in represented some sort of labyrinth, with branches and branches of thin and thick corridors at either side of him, and lock doors with bars of steel and others like his own had been...

Not to mention the lights.

Peter had never been overly fond of the dark, but honestly, who was? Other than _Batman_, he couldn't think of anyone who did. Some hallways were completely pitch-black, whilst others had old, fading, flickering bulbs of light every five metres or so.

So despite the fact that he knew he couldn't let this chance pass, what had just occurred- and what was _to_ occur- wasn't much of a plan.

Well, who needed plans when they had Peter's luck?

_What kind of luck gets you hunted by super-powered serial killers, captured and tortured?_

Well that certainly _wasn't_ the point.

He forced his body to keep up with his mind, each limp taking the breath from his lungs and leaving him feeling over a hundred. With a bad hip.

For about five metres- which had taken him longer than he wanted to admit- he had gone straight, but the corridor he was in was coming to an end, and would have him facing a grey concrete wall in about ninety limps.

He took a right, but not before trying to twist a knob to one of the doors nearby by reaching out and twisting its rusting bronze knob. It was one of the 'less-threatening' looking ones, and he knew that soon word would be out that he had escaped- and he wouldn't stand a chance. So rather than being all out in the open when anyone could find him, he had thought he could go through a door- and perhaps if there was another door on the other side of it, he could go through there- because he knew there were hundreds of corridors, but there were ten times as many doors.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky as the door remained locked. He hadn't expected any different, but something deflated in him, though he kept pushing on.

Finishing another almost pitch black corridor, he felt his most abused leg freeze up and refuse to work, leaving him in a mid-limp, with his good- well, _better_- leg holding up most of his weight as his opposing limb failed him.

"Not now, not _now_!" He muttered, and if it weren't for his death grip on his 'cane' he would half collapsed right there and then. His other hand- holding the revolver- began to loosen as he felt his pupils began to widen slightly and his form began to shake slightly.

He was going into shock.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was safe to say that Michaelis was a little more than surprised when he had found his henchman lying on the ground face down, with a small pool of blood forming from a bulge in his temple caused by a hard hit. Before he knew it he was peaking his head in to confirm the obvious; Peter had escaped.

Now, how the _hell_ had that happened?

How had the boy, in his beaten and broken state, managed to escape from unbreakable- or so Michaelis liked to think- shackles, walk on broken limbs, _and _overpower someone almost three times as big and burly as he was?

But that didn't leave Michaelis disappointed. In fact, he could already feel the pulses of excitement radiate through him.

It had been a while since he'd had such good company, such hard will to _break_. Such hope to destroy, such strength to _demolish. _Such a fantastic and exhilarating chase.

He had missed the thrill and had almost forgotten how good it felt hunting a prey, how electrifying and thrilling it was when he would catch sight of the special soul...

Such a time it had been since he had torn one into pieces, such a time it had been since he had ripped apart a soul so irreversibly that his prey wouldn't have a chance of ever putting his broken pieces back together.

Such a time was coming again, in the form of Peter Parker.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

This couldn't have happened at a worse time.

He could already faintly hear footsteps echoing through the maze, whether they were on the level above- if there even _was_ a level above- or a level below- _likewise_- or in the corridor beside his, or in front of him, or behind him or-

_Shut up!_

He took a breath but didn't move, he could already feel his body shutting down on him, giving up on life, darkening his vision and weakening his limbs...

And for once since this sick, twisted _game_ had begun, Peter felt his hopes begin to dim.

How would he keep moving? If he did, what good did he do? Most likely, there was only one entrance- one way in or out- and chances were he was heading in the complete opposite direction. How could he outrun his enemies in his state? How could he do _anything_ like this? They would find him- that was inevitable- and they would _kill_-

No. No, Peter thought, find, _let_ them find him. So be it. Fine, they were going to find him, and attempt to kill him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to take it lying down. What good did giving up do anyone? Let them point their guns at him and laugh at his weak attempt- let them mock him and hurt him- but they would never break him. This wasn't over. And it wasn't going to be over until one of them died.

It wasn't going to be over until he was back in Gwen's arms working on that maths exam and saving the city not long after.

It wasn't going to be over until he won.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Michaelis took long strides across the corridors. He wasn't going to make his men search with him, this was his game. He was going to play, and he was going to enjoy it. He wondered what would happen once he found Peter- which he obviously would- he decided he wasn't going to kill him right off. Or maybe he was... maybe he would imprison him and begin experimenting, cutting fingers and limbs before sewing them back... he'd always wanted to try that on a _live_ victim. Or maybe he would make him beg on knees for his life, pleading to be spared, and then shoot him in the forehead... he didn't know which appealed to him and thrilled him more, Peter begging and broken, or Peter screaming in agony as his arms were stitched back to his shoulders.

He would do one thing though, before he would kill the teen.

He would ask him about Curt Connors.

That was how it had begun, wasn't it? But Michaelis let himself get carried away with the fun he hadn't had in years- he could interrogate anyone else about the Doctor, but this, oh this was so much better right now.

He was also going to search through his memories- find out who 'Uncle Ben' was- or is- and maybe kill him too- in Peter's head of course, because he doubted anyone else would be as fun. Oh Peter Parker, Spider-Man... Who would've thought?

Michaelis was extremely naive, to begin with. He had expected Spider-Man to be someone older, someone... he really didn't care anymore- for now at least, he didn't give a damn about Spider-Man or Doctor Connors or the Device which he had done so much research on for so many years. He couldn't bring himself to care as everything he had ever planned and done for so long had begun to wither away...

No, right now that wasn't important- what was, though, was the fact that he could smell it.

The sweet, intoxicating fragrance of cherry-red blood, and not just any blood- the most invigorating and addictive of all- Peter Parker's blood.

He was near, but it wasn't over yet.

It wasn't over until he had torn Peter Parker into as many pieces as he could possible, both physically and mentally, until his hands were covered in his precious blood, until his lips tasted and savoured it.

It wasn't over until his fun was.

It wasn't over until he won.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter's heart felt as if it would burst out of his chest with every torturous step he took. But his stubbornness and determination kept him going.

He knew Michaelis was near, he could hear the footsteps now. They were closer, nearing, nearing, _nearing_...

His breathing came in sharp, pained gasps. Red droplets of blood leaked from his wounds and his clothing and ran down his cane, leaving a thin trail behind him. He didn't bother with it, because he knew that they- or he- could _smell_ his blood.

For once in a long time, he cursed his enhanced senses, because the smell of his own blood was so strong to his nose that it almost made him nauseas. He began to feel the real extent of his injuries, the bruises blemishing his skin, the cuts and scrapes tainting the paleness, the swollen and broken joints discolouring his figure, the stabs and injections and tears that had seemed to have been numb once before- but were now raging like wild fire.

And god, it _hurt_, it hurt so _damn much_.

But still, he made his feet move, his hand tightening more on the gun that's weight had become almost unbearable and began drawing his limb down painfully. But he didn't discard it because that would have been idiotic. When he faced the bastard he was going to be ready.

Could Michaelis even die?

It was a silly thought that had planted itself in Peter's brain and refused to leave. The guy could literally _enter his mind_ and flick through his memories. He could plant fake images, and thoughts, and voices, and even mess with the memories themselves, so if he could do all that, who said he had nothing else up his bloody sleeve?

Somehow Peter doubted that Michaelis was immortal or invincible, but just thinking about that creep having that much power... scared him. It genuinely scared him that that monster could be so strong that he could do this to others without have a chance at being stopped or stalled.

That was something that he really didn't want to ever think of- because god, it couldn't be true. He hoped it wasn't.

Suddenly something loud echoed. Peter had just taken a corner from another dead end when the footsteps sounded so much louder, and Peter froze. For a single moment he stopped completely, before hearing another noise;

"_Peter_..."

The voice was sing-song like and too cheery and happy and it was Michaelis's. Michaelis was just at the turn, not five-six metres away Peter would guess. He quickly braced his back against the wall, and had no explanation but the words and feeling of _instincts..._

So relying on that, he lifted the hand holding the gun and spun off the corner before shooting blindly, his blurring and fading vision not allowing him to focus or concentrate of the dark, tall figure he saw duck into another corridor as a bullet almost grazed his head.

"_Hahhahaha, hahhahaha!_" Peter could hear the mocking laughter bounce of the walls of the seemingly empty grey, filthy hell, and pressed himself back against the wall, an incredible rush of adrenaline hitting him at full force.

He didn't say anything as Michaelis caught his breath, before hearing more footsteps.

Peter turned again and fired, though his hand shook badly and his sight was fuzzy, as well as the fact that Michaelis was sly and fast and managed to avoid every fired bullet.

Peter knew he wouldn't win this way, and he was coming closer and closer, and high on adrenalin, Peter spotted a door right a across from him and did the unthinkable.

Michaelis was right there, with a gun of his own and perfect aim and Peter limped as fast as he could that thin metre, before attempting to push open a door that may or may not have been locked.

He couldn't believe his luck when the knob twisted, and the door opened.

Peter honestly didn't know what he was planning to do. Was he planning to run in- _limp_ in- and slam the door closed behind him with whatever imaginary strength he had left? Was he planning to turn around straight away and fire whatever little remaining shots he had, wildly? Did he even _have_ any shots left? Whatever he was planning to do, he didn't. It took a lot longer than he thought it would for his mind to catch up with the actions of his body and by the time it had, he realised the entire rush and adrenaline was beginning to fade, leaving him even more dizzy and breathless.

But he didn't have a chance to recover from his short 'sprint', because as soon as he turned around, Michaelis was there, in his face, and pressed firmly against his chest was a gun.

He held his breath.

"You continued to surprise me, Peter..." His torturer- the psychopath, the cousin of Chuckie who was perhaps even better than the crazed doll himself, said. Peter gritted his teeth but didn't reply, still trying to stand straight and concentrated on not falling over- putting perhaps enough pressure on the stick to break it.

The gun was pressed further into his chest and Peter had to force himself not to cry out in pain as it nudge a particularly bade wound.

"Nothing to say?"

No, Peter had everything to say- just not in words.

And with whatever remaining energy he had, right before he could feel his body shutting down, he did what neither of them had expected.

He smiled.

Michaelis, taken aback by the strange sudden movement, didn't expect the makeshift cane Peter had been 'innocently' leaning on, to be swung and to his the back of his knee forcefully. With a strangled cry, Michaelis lowered his weapon slightly, giving Peter enough of a chance to use the hand that had once been holding the splintered wooden stick to hit Michaelis own with enough strength to knock the silver gun from his palm.

All in a single second, Peter raised his own stolen revolver, but Vaurian was faster this time, and pushing Peter back, he tackled him to the floor.

Peter landed with an agonised cry on his back, the revolver sliding from his hand and the bullet chamber spinning wildly so that the bullet moved positions.

The taller man landed on top of Peter- effectively straddling him, and his pale, scarred hands moved to the younger man's neck, locking at either side and blocking his airway. Peter could feel his body finally giving up on him, but still moved his hands in a futile attempt to pry Vaurian's fingers from his neck, struggling to take a breath.

Michaelis growled and raised Peter's head to knock it back down on the concrete, dazing him for a moment, leaving him one free hand to stretch and reach for the revolver the youth had been using previously.

"It's a _shame_, Peter, you were _so much fun! _You had so much _life!_ I was going to enjoy _breaking_ you Peter Parker!" An uncontrollable temper began to fuel Michaelis, something he could not comprehend. Keeping one hand pressed tightly against the boy's throat, he raised the gun and shoved it against his temple.

"_Such a shame_! But I can't _risk_ you _escaping_ Peter, _oh_ Peter" he snarled at the still struggling teen, "you bring out a side of me I can't _control_, Peter, you make me angry, and I can't risk that, Peter Parker, I can't risk it because I've worked so _hard_!" He growled like an animal and shoved the cold steel of the gun deeper into Peter's temple. "You you had me _thinking_- was it worth it, forget about Connors for now, and the device, and just enjoy _ripping you apart_ from the _inside_ out... It would have been great. But I have _plans_ for the _future_, a _future_ without _you_ Peter Parker, because you're _dangerous_. And you're going to _die_."

And without a further note, just one look into Peter's large chocolate brown orbs and trembling figure, Michaelis leaned in, smiling one last time.

And pulled the trigger.

**I've started on the next chapter. Please don't hate me when I say that how long I have left this Fic hanging was out of my hands. I went to Asia for a month, had exams, my computer breaking down for a few weeks, losing ALL the progress on the following chapter and the next- and thus killing my inspiration. I was only inspired again after receiving several reviews telling me it was a good story, and they'd like to see it complete. I was listening to 'Hall Of Fame' by the Script and Will. when I wrote this, so if you need inspiration- I suggest giving it an ear, it's fantastic. Really.**

**~RoseMello, your reviews and PMs are greatly appreciated. **


	18. Chapter 18

It took a moment for Michaelis to comprehend the situation- his pale, charred fingers squeezed tightly on the trigger…

Nothing but a designated click resounding off of the grey walls of the room.

A single, tragically gifted moment, in which both Peter and his nemesis realised that the bullet was confined in a differing chamber of the revolver, which had occurred when the weapon had been knocked away earlier.

An unbelievably, nothing short of absolutely fortunate and perhaps even providential moment, which was hastily followed by another- another which had occurred perhaps almost too perfectly in the context that of which Peter Parker had been having the most ridiculously juxtaposing day of his entire life- because in those very few seconds, between the time in which the gun had been fired yet drew out empty, another marvel seemed to follow just as immediately.

The thick, olden door of the room had been slammed open, and in one furiously hurried rush, Peter was finally able to release the breath of life he hadn't realised he had been holding, because the man whom stepped out of that door was- despite possibly being the last individual he had expected to see, saved him.

With one unimaginably strong metal arm, Michaelis was pulled forcibly away from Peter, revolver fleeing his grip, and Peter was welcomed by the face of none other than Curtis Connors.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_EARLIER…_

Gwen took a deep breath and released a sigh she hadn't been aware she had been holding. She forced her nerves to calm and her anxious fidgeting to stop, attempting her best to relax her posture. But no matter how many deep breaths she took, no matter how many times she had closed her eyes for how many uncountable moments, she couldn't- not with all her own will- stop her fingers from tapping on any passable surface and her feet from bouncing.

She had just escaped the surveillance 'rec' room and was taking long strides through the long, winding corridors of her school. About ten minutes before, Daemon and Simmons had left, one taking quick anger-influenced strides, whilst the other practically running with a nervous glaze in his eyes. She had waited for a few minutes in the wardrobe just in case either of them were to come back, and once she was certain- or almost, anyway- she had sprung from her hiding place and ran until she was out of the building, careful to avoid any janitors or roaming students who had come to pick up reports or otherwise.

The entire way she had clutched the tape in her sweaty fingers, resting on her clammy palms tightly, until she remembered the messenger bag slung across her shoulder. If someone had caught her running through the hallways in such a nervous haze- she knew she could get away with some excuse- though, if they were to catch her with the missing surveillance footage that the police were after... well, she wasn't so sure she could sneak her way out of that one. At least this way the tape would be out of sight, and no one would have reason to suspect her.

No one much, anyway.

She found it strange how the thought of Daemon or one of his underling's finding her didn't bother her much relating to the fact of her own sentence and punishment, but rather the questions that would come up about Peter.

She briefly thought about her boyfriend, about where he was and what he was going through right now. She thought about his predicament and her own, about Doctor Connors, and Simon and whoever else wanted him dead. She couldn't help the involuntary exhalation of breath that escaped her lips, just thinking about Peter, and how he had made that offhanded comment about the best promises being the ones that were meant to be broken.

She remembered crying herself to sleep that night, again, because she had thought she had lost two of the best people in her life. Her father had been brave, and he had brought about justice, dying for what his cause and what he had believed in. Peter had lived, and he had come back to her with apologies and care and love. She could still remember the deep red roses and delicate white lilies he had left in her room with a miniature card that had read,

'Wait for me on your balcony'.

And she had- well of course she had. And she didn't live to regret it one bit. She had not waited for him long to swoop her up and swing her around the city, his arm encircled around her slim waist, and hers hugging his muscular broad shoulders. It had been that, followed by a quiet night of confessions one the rooftop of the highest skyscraper they could find, watching the stars whilst laughing, smiling, crying.

If she wasn't sure about the strength of the feelings they shared before, she certainly was now. That night she hadn't cried herself to sleep, but feel into it welcomingly- feeling as if a large weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She dreamt of starry night skies and unbelievable heights, and laughter and gleaming eyes she knew she would hear and see in her best moments.

Peter was there of her, and she was there for him- of that she couldn't be more sure.

When all of this had begun- the killing attempts, the kidnapping, the breaking out of a maximum security prison - which now somehow seemed more... 'Mellow' compared to everything else going on- the superpowers and assassins- to think back on that now, she thought she should feel more overwhelmed. But no, despite the worry and the fatigue and the tears shed, she could bring herself to regret nothing. Not accepting Peter's hand, not stealing the tape, not lying to the police, not facing the man who'd murdered her father.

Because really, it had all been worth it.

And it still was, she thought to herself as she kept up her long quickening strides. The sun was well over the horizon, as she could see through the large glass windows lined on the concrete walls along with posters and notes of up-coming school presidential elections, exams, council meeting dates and announcements and so on. She wasn't far from the exit now. She could see the large wooden door just an approximate of a hundred or so metres in front of her. She released a low breath, thanking whoever or whatever was up there for the easiness of the entire task. She had to admit to herself, it made her doubt herself and suck in breaths and cross her fingers that her heart wasn't beating too loudly at times, but really- it had been more nerve wrecking than anything else.

She was almost there. Once she was out, there would be no evidence left to incriminate Peter... yet. She just hoped that he would come back- or be found soon- before Daemon's search took a serious turn and he became extremely intent on finding Peter and pinning the murder on him- which she wouldn't put past him.

She was almost there now, before she heard a noise. Turning slightly she noticed a shadow from a corridor to the side she had almost bypassed. Her heart clenched and she turned to face the figure, wondering who would step out of the rare darkness where no sunlight reached.

The face of who she saw was a grim on, one whose teeth were clenched and one who had clear visible tear tracks down her pale cheeks. The next words spoken made Gwen's heart beat faster.

"I can't let you leave with that, Gwen..." Said Casey.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Curt Connors was way over his head.

He knew that, the men sitting across from him knew that, heck; he was sure that even the rats secretly scurrying the well-furnished 'clean' walls knew that. There was just no way, _not _to think that. And it was an absolutely, undeniably, uncontrollably ridiculous notion to even _think_ about. God, if there was even a God out there, and whoever, _what_ever he was, Connors hoped on the very essence of his life that the big man up there was watching. He just had to be- and for the first time in a very long time, a _very, very _long time, Curt closed his dark eyes for just a moment took a breath, his thin lashes brushing against his pale skin as his mind took a moment to comprehend the full consequences of what he was about to do.

Oh. The result could easily be so disastrous. And it would be, whether things went right or not, the end- the outcome- would be hard and painful and agonising- but it was worth it. He knew he was being selfish. Maybe he was, maybe he was being more than selfish- cruel even, and to everyone who had never been involved in this. In the moments which he had closed his eyes, and bit down on his bottom lip so hard- he came to the full and complete realisation of what he was about to do…

It came as a surprise to him, despite it being the most obvious thing ever. In fact, it was more than shocking and obvious. Strange juxtaposition, he took a moment to think to himself. How had his life become this? This twisted, this estranged, this _worthy? _Worthy, yes- not in the context that he was of amazing significance and royalty, but that of he had so much _to live for._

And it sacred him- because he was about to put the life of millions in jeopardy to save on person.

One boy, on young man, one son.

To say it terrified him was really an understatement, because several months ago he had never thought the concept of meeting his missing best friend's son. He'd never thought of the fact that Peter Parker would come to mean so much to him, would save him perdition and forgive him when he never deserved it.

He never thought it at all.

So yes, perhaps the fact that he _was _going to give up everything for him was every bit as horrifying as it seemed, but that didn't make it any less worthy.

He knew if given another chance he would make the same decision in a heartbeat, maybe less. Maybe he wouldn't even have a beating heart after this, maybe he was going to hell for this, and maybe, just _maybe _his life would turn and twist and mangle itself further than it had already, and maybe it would be hard and agony and pain- but that was just it. That was what is was all about, in the end, wasn't it?

To live, to sacrifice, to live _for _sacrifice. To be willing to give up his soul to the devil. To be willing to put so much on the line- things, _lives, _he had a right to and others- most- he _didn't. _

It didn't change his mind though. It wouldn't.

And maybe, just _maybe, _that was what he had to do. To give everything he'd ever hidden, created, fought for, to give up everything that made him _human._

He knew the lives and souls and beating hearts of millions were on the line. But as hard as he'd tried, he knew he'd never win the fight between keeping them safe and keeping _him- alive._

So perhaps, maybe, it hadn't been the right thing to do. Perhaps, maybe, he was doomed to an eternity in a place called hell he hadn't believed in until he met others who had no other place to go but there.

But yes, maybe, just maybe, it was worth the sacrifice.

"Yes. Yes, I'll tell you where it is. I'll hand it to you."

And there was silence for a long moment, the moment in which he knew there was no greater escape than this.

"Save Peter Parker and I'll give you the key to destruction. Save Peter Parker and I'll tell you where it is, you have my word."

Sometimes sacrifices had to be made, even if deep inside he knew he had no right to be making them. Sometimes, in time s like these, he could afford to be venal and corruptible…

Because to save Peter Parker, well, there was nothing of more worth.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Gwen took a breath, and faced Casey. She wouldn't let her get in the way, she wouldn't let one misguided teenager who had no bloody idea what the hell she was doing stop her. Not when everything relied on this, not when pure determination was pumping so had through her veins and so strongly her heart beat, that she wondered if Casey herself could hear it.

She was nervous, but the nervousness and anxiousness running through her was nothing compared to the fierce ambition and adrenalin she could feel strengthening within every passing second. No, she wouldn't let Casey stop her, not when she was so close to the end, not when Peter relied on her, no- not this time- she wouldn't let something as trivial as an angry, brainwashed student get in her way.

"No, Casey. You don't know what you're doing." She could feel the edginess in the form of sweat pooling at her palms and could easily hear the apprehension soaking the tone of her voice. She wasn't afraid of herself, but she was wasting time. If something happened, and she was caught now- and they found the tape… well she couldn't really bring herself to think of the penalties.

"Gwen…" The girl took a step closer. Gwen could see now, as Casey emerged from the shadows, the cell phone clutched tightly in her right hand. _This isn't good_, she thought desperately. If Casey was desperate enough, Gwen knew she wouldn't hesitate to call the authorities. But she could also sense the hesitation in her tone of voice and posture- and Gwen came to a sudden realisation-

_She didn't want to do this. _Casey didn't want to do this.

And maybe a few months ago, Gwen would have consoled her. Told her it was okay- it was fine, that _she_ would be find.

Now however, Gwen could only think about how she could use the other girl's hesitation and lack of determination against her.

She met Casey's eyes for a few seconds, before speaking in her best 'it's okay, I understand' tone.

"Casey, please. You know I have to do this. You know why. You understand, I would expect you of all people to _understand_" Casey didn't say anything, and despite the small feeling of guilt that crawled its way into Gwen's chest for using the opposing girl's weakness against her, she couldn't help but feel slightly relieved when her grip on her phone loosened slightly.

"Gwen, Gwen- you, _you _don't have to do this. I _do_." Gwen had begun to protest when Casey kept on going, her teeth biting into her lower lip- almost to the point where the skin broke. "You don't _understand. _I haven't got a choice. This _has _to happen. Peter _has _to die!"

Gwen took a short step back without realising it. She knew Casey was confused, disoriented by everything that was happening, and Gwen herself wasn't aware of the full story behind it all- but she had to make do. Right now Casey was angry, but she was also sad- and from her tone, _heartbroken._

Gwen knew she could use that to her advantage. Despite the fact that Casey was determined- perhaps almost as determined as Gwen herself- that very same determination also made her _vulnerable_. She had a goal, but that very same goal could be her very undoing. Running on such strong emotions, Gwen didn't doubt their there could be- and there _would_ be- a moment when Casey made a mistake. When she'd say something wrong- when she'd give Gwen an opening, and all she had to do was pry. Pretend to understand. Nod, and stutter and be _convincing_. She wouldn't even have to outwardly lie. She just had to be patient, she just had to wait for that very perfect moment when doubt would lace Casey's voice- when her eyes would water and her lip would bleed from how hard her anxiety and hesitation was causing her teeth to press against the soft flesh.

And all Gwen had to do was be patient.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The silence in the room had been almost suffocating, Connors recalled. He knew that they had probably always- since the beginning- expected him to do as they asked. To give up the location. Though despite the initial shock of his own choice, and surprise that such a decision didn't faze him one bit, the only emotions filtering through his mind were anxiousness and fear.

Yes, something Connors hadn't felt in a while. No, of course he had been afraid, he had wanted to climb away into some secret safe have where he couldn't be found or disturbed for a _very _long time- perhaps even long enough to forget about this entire ordeal with New York and Peter and Gwen and those absolutely horrid organisations he was so elaborately ensnared within the centre of- but despite that, it had never really by, well, _real. _

Nothing like the real fear he felt now. What he had felt before wasn't stone cold, didn't make him shudder and shover and close his eyes for so long that he almost forgets to open them again. No- it certainly was nothing like this. Nothing like _now_.

But every fear had to be overcome. Every trail had to end, and every path had to start anew somewhere. And this particular somewhere was where he was now, trailing beside Simon and his Master into deep, dank, _dark_ corridors. This stuff to make someone wince and cringe and want to run, run so very far away to get as far as possible from the murky eeriness. The stuff of _nightmares_.

He did his best not to think about what Peter had endured here, as his footsteps seemed far too loud and echoed repeatedly off of the tight closed spaces. He did his best to ignore the heavy weight on his chest which continued to sink deeper and further with every metre that he knew was getting him closer to Peter. He did his best not to let his mind wander too far, not to let it trail into the obscured, unrelenting shadowed abyss of destructive, chilling possibilities.

And so many of them there were. What would happen once they - and they _would_- had found Peter? He would heal, physically, over about a week- Connors knew, but mentally? He wanted to shrink away and disappear into a haze of blissful nothingness at the foreboding thought. Even after that, what then? Once Peter was safe, what was he to do? Hand over the location to the weapon? He would be practically handing over the lives of millions of innocent men, women and children. No, he would have to think of something. And he would. Just, not at this moment.

Not when everything was on an edge, one single moment of imperfection away from falling, falling and falling- so far down, too far to retrieve, too far to rebuild, too far to _reach._

And that everything included them. Them- Connors, Gwen, Peter, Aunt May, hell, even Simon and the organisations.

And it was at that moment when they reached it. After leaving in a car with tinted windows on both sides, after entering underground, after trailing through what seemed like a thousand corridors and slitting- well, _he_ didn't do the slitting- the throats of what seemed like a thousand guards, bleeding- both literally and figuratively- the information and _life_ out of them, until they found the room. Down to the side, one turn, first door to the right. They were almost there. The path was almost at its next swerve.

He braced himself.

They were playing with fire here, and if they weren't careful, they were going to get burned.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Casey, look at me, _look_ at me." Gwen urged, her voice laced with a touch of hurriedness. She doubted Casey noticed though, when she looked into her dark eyes and noticed the internal battle she was having within herself. She was almost there; she could almost _taste_ the relief. "Peter, he," she ensnared a light case of hesitation- sounding as if she wasn't sure where she should continue or not, when the answer was so evidently obvious, "he means more to you, doesn't he? More than all this… _revenge_. All this _pointlessness_. All this _hate_ and _anger_ that will never lead you _anywhere_. All of this-" she made a questioning motion with her palm lifted up wards in a friendly gesture; "all of this, well doesn't really matter, does it?"

She left the question hanging and watched the defeat play in Casey's deeply conflicted orbs that still refused to meet her own. _Almost there_, she thought to herself, _just one more push…_

"He _matters_ to you, Casey. Even I can see that. The way your eyes drift off when you look at him, how you drop everything and run to him when he asks a question needs your help- he means _so_ _much_ to you-" But that was where she made her mistake. She was immediately aware of it as Casey took in a sharp breath and something began to shift in her eyes- they became colder, more shielded, and she spoke to interrupt Gwen before she could continue.

"Yeah. You know _what_, Gwen? You're right." Her tone was harsh and vicious. "I _do_ care about him, and he _does_ matter to me. He's the first person I notice when I walk into a room. The first one I look for when I'm in a crowd. But…" Her voice cracked just so slightly near the end. "But he doesn't see _me_. Doesn't notice _me_. He didn't know _my name_ until about a week ago. He means more to me than I do to him. In his eyes_, I don't exist_."

Gwen thought that may have been a bit harsh, and slightly overplayed, but she didn't voice her thoughts. Rather, she knew she had to get everything under control. She had to get Casey to calm down; she had to reassure her, to stop her from coming to any rash conclusions.

So she decided to play at another angle, seeing as this one wasn't going to get her very far any time in the foreseeable future.

"You're right." Casey seemed shocked at her words, and Gwen suddenly wondered what on earth she was doing other than improvising continuously. "You're right. He might not have the same feelings for you that you do for him, _fine_, I won't lie. I won't say otherwise." She took a deep breath. This was it. Her final chance. "But is this how you're determined to let it end?" Casey seemed as if she was about to cut in when Gwen continued. "Listen, Casey, I don't know the whole story. I don't know who exactly has you up to this, and for god's sake I have no _bloody_ idea why you're going along with it. But if you do, if you try to _stop_ me, you know how this is going to _end_? For _Peter_? Can you imagine what will happen to him if you tell the authorities? If you help those bastards who are trying to put away the wrong person? Listen to yourself Casey," he voice softened, "you say you… love him, but it kinda makes you think, doesn't it? Would someone who loved another person do _this_ to them?"

The answer was no, and from the slump of Casey's shoulders, her loosened grip on the cell phone, the estranged look of downfall in her eyes, Gwen knew she had won.

And with nothing further to say, she rushed past Casey and through the large doors, into the breezy atmosphere of the outside world.

Now she had to get some answers for herself.

**R&R?**

**:) Erm, well, not much to say about why I was away for two months. But, well, would you believe me if I told you the plot bunnies ran so wild in my mind that they kidnapped my to Wonderland and wouldn't let me leave until I build them a mansion made of ships and feels and plot-filled fanfiction?**

**~Rose**


	19. Chapter 19

**So. New chapter. Yup.**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to:**

**The Plot Bunny raging inside my head (and Andrew Garfield. Just 'cause I can.)**

**Topaz Skye (I promise I'll reply to that PM. Thanks for being a source of constant support and awesomeness) **

**Karissagrace (For your awesome support, and good luck on your fanfiction, I'll review as soon as I can)**

**Arachnidous (For your fun facts and information)**

**Life sucks- move one (For your thoughts and input, and reviews too!)**

**And everyone else who reviewed the last few chapters- CelticClover, Spidylover, Lilly, and the anonymous Guest!**

Peter had to seriously stop waking up like this.

The light, yet persistent monkey with the loud drums banging constantly in the back of his head. The overly bright, almost blinding light filtering through beyond his eye lids as he grudgingly attempted to force them open.

It took him a moment to come completely to his senses- well almost, seeing as how his eyes weren't exactly open yet. He could feel something soft beneath his touch- sheets- he realised as he grazed the tips of his fingers against the smooth cotton. The aroma of something sharp and warm filled his senses, something strong and invigorating- coffee. It was only then he realised how parched his mouth was, it tasted bitter and thick and uncomfortable, making him wince at the undesirable taste. Then finally, he could hear a soft murmur- but it seemed as if blocked by something, like the noises were afar, behind a dozen locked doors and it seemed as if even the soft rustling caused by the touch of his fingers to the bed below was coming through a phone answering a call miles and miles away.

Finally, after several moments, he managed to peel his eyes open- and in doing so, immediately regretted the action that had seemed so needed only seconds ago.

The lights seemed almost blinding as they clashed with his irises. He quickly closed them again and let out a quiet groan in protest as he did so. Clenching his eyes shut, memories began to quickly flood through his brain in a constant seemingly never-ending stream-

_Michaelis_, pain, darkness, wooden doors and sharp splintering stakes, laughter- sickeningly animalistic _laughter, _howling and running and pulling _triggers_, doors, so many doors, _too_ many doors, a maze- corridors, guns, _Connors_.

He arched of the soft bed with a start, immediately wincing as he did so. Everything was coming back to him- he had escaped, well- _almost_, and then Michaelis put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, but there was… well, _nothing_. Just a click which had at the time bounced of the dirty grey walls of the small room and then- the Doctor.

He quickly scanned the room around him to find that he was in a surprisingly well-furnished one. There was a desk and a set of drawers at one end, and another cabinet to the side. Everything seemed clean, not at all dusty like it had been in the abandoned building he'd woken up in before. No this was very different… very wrong.

Something told him- he guessed it was probably his Spidey-senses that something was so completely out of place here. Something was off, something had happened, or was _going_ to happen… he had no idea what, but the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach continued to weigh him down and wouldn't fade despite how much he told himself he was overreacting.

But, he wasn't really overreacting, was he? He had in fact just been held captive and tortured- torture, it seemed somehow morbidly funny to say when he thought about it now- held at gunpoint, and had a gun trigger off right beside his head. Then he'd waken up in a place he had no recollection of ever being before.

_At least it's a little more accommodating than my last lodging_, he thought silently to himself.

He sighed and realised he should get up- there'd be no more reason not to get up and find out what the hell was going on and where he was. Perhaps Connors had found this place, he mused- but then quickly discarded the thought as he noticed the lack of dust on everything, and the fact that the furniture in the room seemed very well taken care of and almost… antique.

Without further thought about his surroundings, he pulled the covers off of himself and turned- to find his glasses on a bedside table. Pulling them on, the world suddenly became clearer, and somehow, gave him a further boost of energy to properly get up- which he did…

Before wincing at a light yet sharp stab of pain that seemed to emit from his chest. He sighed lightly, realising that his ribs must not have healed yet- which lead him to several further realisations-

One, he couldn't have been here too long. More than a few hours, he estimated, judging by the groggy feeling that would often strike when one slept for the majority of the afternoon, before waking up and going back to sleep at night only hours later. The second clue he got was that his injuries hadn't healed yet. Maybe a few cuts had sealed and a few bruises had faded, but he hadn't been asleep long enough for his ribs to heal- which suddenly reminded him of his knee and the brutal treatment it had gotten earlier. He focused his eyes on it only to discover it was bandaged over thickly over his jeans- and now that he had come to his senses, he could feel bandages shifting beneath the materials of his trousers too.

The second realisation- or, well, _main_ realisation- was that there was more than one person on the other side of the wooden door on one side of the wall to his right. That meant Doctor Connors had help. Well, of course he did, Peter thought, how could he have found out exactly where Peter was, get past all those guards and henchmen, and infiltrate the 'base'? Peter suddenly had to resist the urge to shiver when he considered exactly who Connors had enlisted for help. Whoever it was, chances were that they weren't good news. Because honestly, if they were willing to get involve with a person like Zombie-Chuckie, and navigate their way through his entire _labyrinth of doom_- which Peter had come to dubbing it- then what kind of people were they?

People who wanted something, a dark voice chided from the back of his head. People who were willing to take such dangerous risks were often part of a much bigger picture and frame than what Peter had witnessed so far. Which really, from all angles, wasn't a good thing.

It only meant that they were all part of something bigger.

Which of course was a thought which succeeded in making his head spin with dark, morbid possibilities and did not, one bit, help with his current situation.

Ignoring his thoughts- or himself, _could_ a person ignore themselves? - He twisted and shuffled so that his feet dangled above the floor, before he slowly lowered his toes and suddenly came to _another_ rather unforseen realisation.

_He wasn't wearing any shoes._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Connors sat opposite to the one person in the world he both hated indescribably and was dramatically thankful for.

Things had gone to plan. More or less so. They had entered the 'maze' as Connors had decided to name it, underground, and found the room where Peter was being kept after several… discussions with the guards.

Or, one-sided threats that would result in an agonising death if the unwilling henchmen didn't reveal the location of Spider-Man.

Either way, they found where he was. Or where he had been- seeing as how he had made his own escape attempt from his dark, murky prison. Just the look if the almost black concrete stained with what looked suspiciously like blood- or it could have been red paint up there for decoration for Halloween, yet somehow Connors doubted that particular organisation was very festive- and those knives and tools that he had caught side of tucked away in the corner as he had hurriedly stepped over the unconscious- though somehow he doubted the man was waking up- henchmen sprawled across the entry with a good sized bump at the back of his head- and perhaps with more blood surrounding him than someone who had their head wacked should have.

It had been a race from there, Simon, the 'Master' and him following the trails of blood on the walls, across the floor, and into the one scene- the one moment- which had Connors heart freeze in his chest, and for a few seconds, he swore it refused to beat.

But the bullet hadn't left the gun- or if there even was one in the chamber to begin with. It was in those precious few seconds that he had pushed through the doorway and with all his might, yanked the man with the gun to Peter's head off of him.

The man had stumbled back startled due to the strange strength in Connor's metal arm, but Connors had seen something that quickly followed the confusion on his grotesquely patched up features as he had turned his head sharply to face the other two men in the room, the ones who had been- despite on guard- calm and silent near the doorway- it was recognition.

It wasn't the same sort of recognition one would experience when bumping into a stranger twice on the same day, nor was it the same recognition of coincidently seeing a friend at a café after one's last High School Reunion ten years previous.

No this was something else. It ran deeper, and it ran profounder and it was certainly far more _meticulous._

But Connors had quickly discarded his thoughts then. They had found Peter, and his bones would mend and his bruises would heal in soon. And nothing, not even the suspicion and undeniable distrust and apprehension that weighed down on his chest at that moment, could even come close to comparing with the respite and thankfulness that had pumped fiercely through his veins, mingling with his blood, at that incredibly fortunate moment.

Connors hadn't stuck around to find out much more about the relationship between the bastard who took Peter and the bastard who gave him the ultimatum between a million lives and one other.

He didn't know what happened between them past that, because they had immediately transferred Peter to the car and ended up here- the 'Master's' oh so humble mansion.

And thus it all came to this very moment. The one moment when he had to hold up his deal of the bargain, to hand it over. The device.

"I believe it's time, Doctor Connors."

The phrase had a poorly veiled threat lurking beneath the smooth yet maliciously intended words. Connors took a moment to consider everything. The weapon they wanted- he knew he couldn't just hand it over to them- but he also knew he didn't have much of a choice. They had already proven that they wouldn't be double-crossed, and clearly they thought that Connors wouldn't dare try- because firstly, they got Peter back before demanding the location. And they had physically gone there themselves, rather than just reveal to Connors the location as they had first phrased when they offered him the deal. So obviously they figured they were being generous- perhaps even incredibly so. Now they fully believed that Connors would simply give the weapon. Practically giving them the lives of all Americans and even those of a few countries surrounding them.

But then again, Connors had an advantage. True, he had to give them the location of the contraption that the Ganali device was based on. He just didn't have to give them the final version of it.

And that was where things really went into play- when they become dangerous. When they could no longer dance any further on the edge of this suicide mission. When the fire twirling between their fingers couldn't get any hotter, and the vines and nooses around their throats couldn't tighten further.

It was just a matter of time before the wooden board beneath their feet would drop, and they would fall- suffocating in the spiral of conspiracies and destruction that they had been woven into- before eventually, they would stop kicking and there would be nothing left itself of life to fight for.

What Connors was about to do would either hold the board in place beneath their toes temporarily, or smash it down with a ferocity enough to burn the lives of millions.

There was only one thing to do here. They asked for the infamous machinery that the Ganali was based on, then fine- that was what they were going to get- the very first contraption designed by Connors and Richard themselves… It would be the one the organisation asked for, but it wouldn't be the one they meant.

_It's a shame they weren't more specific._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Peter's knee ached.

It was a dull, persistent ache, not unlike the one residing at the back of his skull- minus the chirpy, overenthusiastic monkey with the loud, _loud_ drums. He found out that it stung whenever he put weight on it, but it wasn't as bad as he had thought initially- which also came as a great relief. His limbs were all sore and slightly numb, but it was certainly better than the stinging throbbing they had been previously. No, despite the aches being consistent as well as constant, they were a much better alternative to when he was stuck in the hell-hole with Chuckie Mc-Patches.

Only now had he noticed the sharp twinges as he forced his joints to regain more feeling in them. He recalled the fights before his kidnapping and figured that they probably didn't help his whole 'they're only scratches- I'll get back to kicking some bad guy butt soon enough' regime. He let out a small involuntary sign as he realised how much he wanted to just go home right now. He wondered about Aunt May and Gwen and in turn, remembered those horrible, grotesque images that Chuckie had shoved into his mind, and how agonizing it was to see the undeniable splatter of blood across the walls, to see the very same crimson staining his hands. A sudden surge of anger coursed through him, and he realised just how much he wanted to punch that bastard- Michaelis.

He thought about what happened, and what became of the sadistic man with the supernatural powers, and hoped someone seriously hurt him- though he doubted it. He had managed one last glance of the faces beyond Connors, and despite not seeing one of the men's faces; he knew he had a partner. And something about his posture seemed almost… familiar. He shook his head, it didn't matter. What he saw shine in Michaelis's eyes wasn't fear, perhaps a slight twinge of anger, but mostly it had been- acknowledgement.

He decided to ponder on his dark thoughts later, once he found out where he was and what in the hell was going on.

He had gotten to his feet and, after digging the heels of his palms into his eyes to lessen the annoyingly insistent and ridiculously stubborn thumping somewhere deep in his temples, decided to look for his black converse.

Somehow, when he caught sight of them, sitting innocently by the door, he couldn't help the outrageous amount of relief that surged through him.

_Typical_. He would be more thankful that he hadn't lost his shoes than the fact that he had escaped what seemed like an eternity with nothing but Mr Chuckles and his absurdly messy stitches and estranged smile with amusingly white teeth.

He decided not to laugh at himself just yet, but he couldn't help but feel that his respite for his shoes was justifiable. After all, with everything happening in the past few months- his powers, Uncle Ben's death, Captain Stacy's death, meeting Gwen, leaving Gwen, going back to Gwen, Doctor Connors and saving New York and strange, crazy lizard powers- and now _this. _As if getting kidnapped wasn't enough, he was wanted by the police and had a ridiculous amount of trained killers after him. Well, it was good to have something constant. Something that was there from seemingly the beginning of time- _kind of like dinosaurs he mused, but not really_- and had just always been with him. His trusty converse.

_And his is the bit where you mentally slap yourself and snap out of your ridiculous- though understandable- muses, Parker. Get to it. _Oh, and comes the day when his thoughts want to make him laugh and cry and scream at the same time.

He took a breath and put his pale hand on what seemed like a recently polished doorknob, before twisting and pulling the door open.

And then he remembered he still hadn't put his shoes on.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Well?" The man looking completely composed and relaxed sitting opposite Connors pressed. Connors glanced around, some part of him- well more like all of his instincts- urging him to get up and to just _run_- but he knew he'd get nowhere far, and he couldn't leave Peter here either. He let his eyes trail further behind the desk to the imposing figure standing there, arms pressed together in front of him. He was more than a lackey, Connors realised. A right hand man, maybe?

"The location, Doctor Connors." The Master demanded, though he somehow managed to do so without seeming impatient or rushed. Not one bit.

Connors opened his mouth to answer, completely ready to put the next part of his plan into action, before another voice spoke up.

"Location to what?"

Connors' head immediately whipped around, as did the heads everyone else's in the room. The voice was young, yet resilient- and at the same time, somehow _innocent. _The voice was of course none other than Peter Parkers, and Connors had to fight the urge to ask him if he was okay, to force him to sit down before he fell down.

Dressed in a comic-styled shirt- it was those guys from the news- the _Avengers_, he thought they called themselves- jeans and his black converse, hair ruffled and messy as usual, and glasses framing his eyes. If it weren't for the fact that his skin was several shades paler than it should be, and black circles of sleeplessness found themselves beneath his orbs, then Connors wouldn't have realised anything was different at all- almost as if the last few days hadn't happened. And in an instant, Curt wondered if they knew Peter's other identity- or if they had no idea at all- though Connors seriously doubted that.

"I see you've woken, Mr Parker." Something in the leader's voice made Connors want to shiver. It wasn't anger, or boredom, or disinterest. In fact, it was the complete opposite- it was fascination. _Infatuation_.

Peter didn't seemed fazed at all by this, or, Connors thought, he probably was- but over the course of the fast few days he'd probably seen and felt so many surprising things that he had learnt how to mask his expressions.

Peter's eyes trailed as he took in the face of the Master and _Simon. _That nagging feeling that he had recognised one of his 'rescuers' did seem to account for itself.

"I see you've started the party a little early. Am I-" he hesitated and sarcasm was thick in his tone when he continued, "_missing_ something?"

Simon shifted behind the Master and gave Peter a long, hard, _interested_ look. His darks, black orbs fixated themselves on the boy and his lips twitched in what seemed like a small, amused smile- something that didn't one bit fit on his features.

"Peter, are you alright?" Connors said, standing up out of impulse, his voice rushed and uneasy. They didn't need a confrontation right now, not in the condition Peter was in at the moment.

"What's going on?" He asked again, simply rephrasing he previous question. "Location to what?" He urged, glancing from one party to another. Connors was on the edge of his seat, suddenly unsure about whether explaining that, worst case scenario, millions of people were going to be poisoned to death because he had picked one life over that many.

"Why don't you… take a seat, Peter?" Peter glanced at the man sitting in the throne-like chair who had just asked him the question. He tilted his head slightly and licked his dry lips before answering the inquiry with another.

"What happened to Michaelis?" He questioned them, honestly curious about the answer. He knew that both parties seemed to recognise one another to some stage, and one top of that he had no idea how the hell they'd even found him in that maze- which meant that they had been there previously.

"So full of questions and curiosity, aren't you? Well I suppose it comes with the job description, being an _vigilante_ and all…" he replied, a thin, snake-like smirk stretching his pale lips as he leaned further on his elbows on the rich, antique table.

It was one of those days, Peter thought, when he really didn't know the point of keeping his secret if every bloody person in the world was going to find out.

He took a few steps forward steadily, trying his best not to limp on his bad leg, or wince as his bruises grazed against the material of his clothes. He could feel a ridiculous itch building up on his left shoulder from a rather unpleasant interaction with the blade- that he remembered had something dried, like blood, staining it, though he really didn't want to think about that now- and could feel a scab building. He almost groaned allowed as his luck just had his knee weakening increasingly, and causing it to almost buckle.

He held himself at the last second, and watched the headman gesture to a chair beside Connors opposing them. He really didn't want to comply with the stranger who he knew didn't help save him out of the good and graciousness in his heart, but he felt as if he didn't have a choice- with his knee barely functioning and staying in one piece as it was.

He heavily limped the few steps towards the chair, yet somehow managed to land gracefully into it, with the help of his white-knuckled grip against the thick leather of the arm. Once he was seated, he glanced at Connors who had something close to worry shining in his eyes, then fixed his own on Mr Ponytail's.

"Location to what?" Peter could feel the level of his anxiousness increase as the Doctor averted his gaze and fixated it on the wall with the deep blue wallpaper on it, way beyond Simon. He was nervous, Peter noticed, which only made his heart beat faster and his nerves wrap themselves further around his morbid thoughts.

Just what kind of deal had Connors struck to get him out of that alienated, isolated prison with Mr Chuckie Chuckles?

He held the gaze of the man who sat opposite to him, and saw in his eyes an emotion he didn't think he'd had really expected to see at that particular instant-

_Amusement_.

So maybe it should have been a little clearer to him. So maybe he should have figured that these guys really were insane, that they would stop at nothing to see the world crumble and burn around them. Maybe he should have expected them as this seemed to be such a big joke. Or maybe it was because they believed they held all the cards in the deck- and they did, probably, or maybe they were just doing this for the fun of it all. The rush, the excitement, the _thrill_. That didn't seem the point though, but for people so intricately involved in a spiral of destruction that they managed to look at with a small and amusement? Yeah, in Peter's book, maybe they didn't need a reason for all this. Even though he didn't know what to expect, even though he tried to expect everything, he was still surprised at what followed.

"Why Peter, the location of the weapon that's going to destroy the world."

Peter licked his lips. These guys seemed a little more serious than insane now. Or maybe they were even on both grounds.

Either way, sparing another look at Connors, he knew something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

Something, probably with the potential to abolish a lot of things.

Or maybe just a weapon that was going to destroy the world.


	20. Chapter 20

Peter couldn't believe his ears as Connors told him what had happened.

In fact, that reaction itself didn't seem to have the ability to describe what he was really feeling at that moment. It was strange really. Strange and unreal and just so god damn ridiculous, yeah- now _that_ came a little closer to summing everything up.

In fact, if he had to describe every single emotion that pumped through his veins, mingled and entwined itself with his blood, flooded and crashed against his heart and mind in large, messy waves, he wouldn't have been able to come up with the words to express the pure, raging _something _that had his head reeling and his mind spinning.

In fact, it seemed that it was more than one emotion altogether. Like disbelief and anger and something he really couldn't identify at the moment. Honestly, it was slightly overwhelming. Right, okay, so maybe more than slightly. Because seriously, who _does_ that? Who would even do something like that? Who would risk the lives of millions, the lives of men, women and _children_?

Well, Doctor Connors apparently would, and the one clear emotion that Peter _could_ comprehend was anger.

It quickly washed away the relief and gratefulness of escaping his own personal hell, it scrubbed away the ebbing confusion and drowned the evident dread that had crawled into his veins as he had realised Connors must have paid big to have him freed.

He just hadn't realised how big.

But right now, that didn't matter. Not to him, not at the moment at least. No, right now, all he had to worry about was keeping himself in check and forcing his fists to clench and unclench as to not lunge at the men before him- exactly unsure at which one he was most frustrated at.

The bastard who probably had a hand in orchestrating the whole bloody thing, his sidekick who had tried to tear Peter's mind in half, or Connors himself who seemed to think that Peter's safety was valued above the lives of thousands and more.

Instead, he managed to compose himself for a few seconds and spoke with his voice low and dangerously on edge.

"Could I have a word with you Doctor Connors? _In private_."

The way Peter's tone of voice seemed low, higher than a whisper but not by much, coupled with something far more perilous than rage, made Connors suck in a breath then sigh. And suddenly he wished Peter would yell or scream at him, to just be angry and frustrated. Anything but this, when the teenager seemed composed and calm- because it was obvious to Connors that he was anything but.

Connors hadn't really ever seen Peter angry, but even though- he knew this surpassed even that.

He braced himself for what he knew was going to come. He stood up from his rather comfortable chair and felt his knees ache- realising just how much this entire 'adventure' was starting to take out of him. He could already feel the sore muscles of his arms shifting tiredly beneath his skin and the weight of the thick, shining metal representing his hand and forearm began to feel heavier than it should.

Connors watched as the 'Master' sitting in the main seat smiled, a smile that seemed to cold and calculating that it was so out of so out of place. Connors knew what he was going to propose before he even spoke.

"Simon and I have business to attend to downstairs. When you are finished, meet with us, and we will discuss this situation further."

He and Simon then left, but not before the Master himself tilted his head slightly and offered Peter a short, deceptive smile. Peter took a deep breath as the sound of the tall, wooden door reverberated around the massive room- announcing the leave of the two men.

He stood still for a moment, and watched Doctor Connors. He was out of his seat and staring intently at Peter, with something deep and meaningful shimmering behind his orbs- something echoing darkness and sadness yet relief, all mingling into one foreboding conclusion, all stationed firm and ready behind his eyes- reflecting where he stood and how he stood in those few seconds that ticked by. Peter gazed into those eyes until he couldn't anymore. Until he couldn't hold onto the forced calmness and the dangerous fear fuelled anger simmering beneath the hard bite of his lips and the tightness that was his clenched fist. He couldn't hold onto to the pretence that had been the initial gratitude. He couldn't hold onto the one factor revelling normalcy.

So he let go.

He let down the guarded anger and rage intensifying in his glare, the barriers of fear and terror streaming through his veins, the foreboding imminence that brought this hell to relativity. He let down and he let go, and he asked the one question that had the ability to venture to the dark, dangerous depths of his meaning.

"How could you?"

And perhaps, somewhere deep and dark and _buried_ inside, he knew the answer.

"How _dare_ you?"

He should've known. The answer, so simple and straightforward and so painfully _obvious_, and he should've known it. He should've _realised_, and he should've _understood_.

"_How_?"

And as his knees weakened and his head spun, he knew it. He _knew_ it.

He should've _known_.

"You know _how_, Peter."

It was so simple and easy that it might as well have been the hardest, most complex puzzle in the entire world. It laughed at him and mocked him and made him want to cringe.

"Then _why_? Why would you do it? _Why_?"

But that didn't change it much, did it? That didn't straighten the curves or perfect the lines. That didn't make everything so parallel it hurt to follow. That didn't make it as easy as writing one, two and three. That didn't make it any _easier_.

"I couldn't _let you go_."

_He should've known._

"I couldn't watch you die-"

"You wouldn't have _watched _me die!" He tried to protest, to argue, to prove how wrong and twisted and _ruined_ this was-

"And you think that would've been _any better_?" Peter could tell he was furious now, maybe even more so than him. He could hear the fear in the threat underlining his words. "Do you _honestly_ think I could have _let _them kill you?" He was yelling know, sharpness highlighting his every phrase. "How could you believe I could have done otherwise?" His voice softened slightly. "How could you, for one _bloody_ moment, think that I would have let you _die_?" And it broke. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't take that away from you. I _couldn't_ let them do it." And he slowed, his haunted orbs never flickering, his voice so low and broken yet never stammering. "It would have been like killing you myself."

There. He'd said it.

"Then you _should have_."

Without another second. Without another beat, without another breath, without another flicker of the eyes, Connors lunged.

Without another moment to understand and revel and hate, Peter was slammed up against the wall so fast it took his breath away and made his limbs shake and his fingers tremble as he pushed against the desperate hold of the metal arm pinning him across the wall. Though feebly, because right now he didn't have the energy to push away. And neither did Connors, who leaned in ever so slightly and had his eyes gleam in the light as moisture built in his lashes.

Connor's metal forearm pressed against Peter's chest; not hard enough hurt but firm enough to make sure he felt Connor's frustration. His other hand pushing against the wall beside the young man, with enough strength to turn his knuckles white.

"You can't have asked me to do that, Peter. And you damn well couldn't have expected me to do it!" He towered slightly over the younger man, who didn't seem fazed at all.

"You know what? I had the _right_ to, but I didn't because I thought you _wouldn't_," Peter's eyes shone as he braced a hand onto Connor's forearm, "I thought you knew one life wasn't worth _millions_!" His voice rose and Connors subconsciously pressed his arm harder against Peter's ribs to the point of it being painful. But neither of them seemed to notice.

"Well you thought _wrong_! I'm a selfish man, Peter. You think when their holding me hostage telling me you're somewhere being _tortured_ to death by _monsters_ because of something _I'd_ done, that I'd honestly think twice before agreeing to what they wanted?" He was just passed the point of desperation now, doing his best to get Peter to understand. _Begging_ him to understand.

And apparently he did. Or maybe he didn't- Connors couldn't really tell as the young man let all his anger and hate and fear flow away, draining him and forcing him to all but slump against the arm holding him upright. It was as if the fight had suddenly been yanked out of him- his skin immediately seeming paler, the darkness beneath his eyes more prominent, the bruises along his skin brighter, almost glowing morbidly like beacons of hurt and pain.

Connors moved away from Peter, releasing the arm from his chest. He took a step back and watched as the boy slumped against the wall, fatigue crawling onto his limbs as they seemed to weigh him down. Peter's head had tilted downwards and his eyes seemed to be tracing strange and random patterns on the floor, before he waited another beat and looked up, meeting Connor's tired stare.

"We have to make sure they don't get actual weapon, we need a plan." Peter spoke softly, forcing himself to push back every emotion he wanted to act upon. "We need a plan."

Connors scanned the room suspiciously, his orbs moving a mile a minute and scanning every surface he could see.

He nodded just as smoothly and quietly, motioning with his head to the general area of the space, as if attempting to mention that someone else might be listening.

They couldn't trust anyone but themselves, and even that honesty was tight and foreboding. Neither of them believed that the Master let them speak in what Peter was beginning to dub his 'throne room' out of the goodness of his heart. They were suspicious- and they certainly had a right to be- that the room was bugged. At the moment, they couldn't afford the type of naiveté that had them believing their enemy's every word.

Peter nodded, but made no move for the door. Instead he walked to the large window behind the antique wooden desk and large, majestic chair. He placed his palm flat against the clear, tough surface of the window and stared intently outside.

It would be too high up for him to jump down, and two low down for him to swing up, especially whilst getting Doctor Connors across. He could balance himself on the slippery surface of the glass, he mused, but he didn't have any of his equipment _and_ he was injured. It would be a highly dangerous risk to take for himself, let alone Connors, who he wasn't willing to put in that unnecessary- okay maybe it kind of was a _little_ bit necessary- danger. He thought for a moment further how they just happened to be in the perfect position that made it almost impossible for them to escape, and realised that this entire intricate web of lies and destruction was extremely well thought through.

Doctor Connors hesitated and could almost swear he could see the gears turning in Peter's head. He took a breath and spoke-

"You could always…" He trailed of slightly, implying what Peter had just been thinking, except extracting the factor of himself from the operation.

"No. We need a proper plan, we need something to work. We can't just be pulling strings or wondering who's going to get the short straw next." He turned back around to face the older man he saw as a father, "We'll fix this. We can fix this." He said, his voice echoing with a sense of strong-willed determination and strength.

Connors nodded and tilted his head slightly, and moved to where he saw a pen and paper lying on a nearby cabinet. He picked them up and double-checked that there were no small, almost-unnoticeable cameras and couldn't help but smile when he saw something flickering on the edge of his vision.

"I've got just the plan."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Simon watched the small screen. The quality wasn't perfect, it wasn't even excellent. But he supposed they had to do for the moment, and he sighed inwardly as he attempted to concentrate on the grainy image.

The camera was positioned between a large stack of books. It was almost impossible to spot, and he smiled at that thought. There were several listening bugs placed strategically around the room, in the forms of such things as pens and pencils. He knew that Connors and Peter probably wouldn't talk too explicitly about their plans, but he knew they would surely reveal something.

He watched intently with interest as Connor's arm forced Peter against the wall, though without enough pressure to actually cause any pain or harm.

They spoke soft words, and Simon was actually very surprised at how well Peter took the news. It was slightly emotional, and left Simon wondering about the familial extent of their relationship. Before it seemed as if Connors simply wanted to use the boy, but now it was more as if he actually cared- seemingly, and perhaps even subconsciously, filling the role of Peter's absent father.

It was quite infatuating, Simon mused. The entire situation was, as it had begun, as it will end. Initially, he had not believed that someone as young and inexperienced as Peter could be someone was skilled and mysterious as Spider-Man- but somehow everything had begun to add up in its own, twisted way. He was aware that his master had always had the strange nagging feeling, ever since he had met the boy anyway, that there was more to him than meets the eye. But he doubted that even somehow such as him could have figured out the truth about Young Peter Parker. Peter Parker without parents, supposedly ordinary Peter Parker, Peter Parker who was only slightly smarter than the average person.

He didn't think anyone would have expected this, Peter Parker with loving parental figures, extremely _extra_-ordinary Peter Parker, Peter Parker who was a complete genius when compared to an average person or otherwise.

Yes, the boy was quite the mystery.

And perhaps, in another life, in an alternate dimension, he would have felt something akin to pity for the boy. Maybe even something bordering the edges of wonder.

He now understood his Master's interest, extreme interest, in the young man. He had even realised that his Lord seemed almost… annoyed and angry when he had heard that he had been taken. He wouldn't outwardly show it of course, but Simon had been present enough to notice the sudden clenching of the fist, the tightness of the nails breaking the hard skin ever so slightly.

Throughout the time Peter was missing, he knew the fury that had built up in his Master wasn't because he was worried about the boy. It was because he had found enough interest in Peter- more than anything he had so in a _very_ long time- and he had wanted nothing and no one interfering and getting in the middle of his entertainment.

Despite this, the situation presented itself a golden opportunity. Since no one that the Master had sent out in his initial mission to disarm Peter Parker, he found that it made him smile slightly to think that he had been captured, and he could always be taken back.

A morbid game of tug a war- where it had been at first, of utmost importance to find the device, but as soon as Spider-Man entered the picture, he was willing to put aside his act of terrorism in order to revel his interest in the boy. And then he had found the perfect scenario in which he could have the boy and the weapon simultaneously.

His attention was recollected again as the two men on the screen moved apart and exchanged a strange glace, though he was unable to decipher the meaning exactly as more grains flickered and collected across the image, making it seem more pixelated.

And then they began to talk.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Connors looked at Peter and made sure he got the message. They were taking a chance here, a really, _really_ dangerous chance. And Connors hoped to whatever god was out there that it would work. So many things could go wrong, but he was determined now more than ever not to fail this.

They were going to lie.

"We're going to lie to them." _Just go with it Peter_, "We're going to give the correct location, but there will be two devices. One will be the fake, and one the real. I'm going to give them the fake- it's an earlier far less complex looking contraption. They'll think that it's the real thing because there are only records of _one_ existing device. The other one will be locked away- they'll never suspect it's even there."

Peter tried to force the nervousness out of him. He began nodding before licking his lips and speaking.

"What if they suspect something? What then? We can't just go half-minded into this and expect everything to go perfectly as planned." He motioned with his hand as if the plan was doomed to fail.

"They won't suspect anything- they'll-"

"And what if they decide they don't need us afterwards?" The younger man interrupted.

"Oh they'll need us. The device, regardless of it being real or fake, it'll need somehow to program it. Somehow who knows what they're doing." Connors implied, his heart beating a hundred miles a minute.

"So they'll need you." Peter concluded with another nod. "We can work out what to do from then."

"Let's not keep our hosts waiting, then, shall we?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Spoken with such conviction, on the other side of the screen, watching the exchange, Simon suspected nothing.


End file.
